The Thread Of Fate
by Aberrance
Summary: A detailed and extremely realistic accounting of the events leading up to and including the 63rd Hunger Games, as seen through the eyes of a tribute from District Eight. Rated T for language, paranoia, and graphic depictions of violence.
1. Just my luck

**_Readers,_**

**_This is a story that follows one tribute in the Sixty-Third Hunger Games, based on Suzanne Collins' marvelous books. It is part of a much bigger storyline I've been putting together for some time. Some of the characters are from Collins' books, though plenty are omitted—none are drastically different. The characters of hers I've used are left, as much as I possibly could, unchanged and unaltered. The history is a little different in this version of Panem, my geography may not follow the Canon exactly, but I did not want to alter the universe radically. Of course the original character designs are my own, but we all owe a great gratitude to Suzanne Collins for creating such a rich world full of interesting characters, that we all have appreciated so much._**

**_I hope you find this story entertaining, and while I'm at it and I'm hoping, engrossing as well._**

**_Enjoy._**

I watch as the machinery before me spits out and lays down the sliver, unreeling it in fluffy, even strands which, particularly when I'm hungry, reminds me of iced cream. Not that I've had ice cream many times, but I am luckier than many of the people that work with me in this factory, as my father used to work as a Peacekeeper for the Capitol.

I say used to, because after he lost his left foot, and three of the fingers on his right hand. Soldiers without their proper digits, are of little use to the Capitol. One might think that the Capitol took good care of their injured Peacekeepers, but it's really not true. Sure, Dad got a pension…a pittance really, considering how much money he had been bringing in when I was very little. Still, at least the Capitol didn't kill him just for being an inconvenience. They paid for his surgeries, had him fitted with prosthetics, and all. Of course there was technology in the Capitol that might've been able to implant a fake foot and fingers, but as far as they were concerned, they were fulfilling their contractual obligations by paying Dad for his services, and ensuring that he wasn't a total freak.

Then again, if I remember right, everyone in the Capitol pretty much looked, dressed, acted, talked, and probably even sneezed like freaks. I guess that comes with having the ability to worry about how you look, talk, walk, or sound. Here in District Eight, most people are too concerned with their day-to-day lives to begin dreaming about such frivolities. Then again, it could be worse…a lot worse, the way Dad tells it.

It has always been shocking to me to think that there are people in Panem living in 'lesser' districts, whose lives are even worse-off than ours in Eight. It's cold here, not year-round, but when winter comes, it bites hard. Eight has been in charge of Panem's textiles for…well, as long as anyone I know can remember. It isn't very exciting to tell someone that your District makes clothing. We make all sorts of things, really, but the meat of what District Eight produces, has to do with clothing and house wares. I work with cotton, almost every day of my life.

The machine I am looking over, is called a Coiler. After a machine had scissored off a minute top layer from the bundles, it passes into a duct system which is extremely noisy…it's why I wear earplugs at the factory, even though I don't work that machine. It's a solid 100 feet away from me, but it's still loud enough that if I didn't diligently put in my ear plugs, my supervisor has told me time and again, I'd suffer serious hearing loss. The cotton passes through the ducts, that remove any twigs and other nature-found shit that we don't want in the finished product. It's blended and cleaned, and then passes into what's called a carding machine. That machine is within my line of sight, and is far more interesting to watch than the coiler.

The cotton slides under these rolls at the carding machine, where these metal teeth comb out the cotton and arrange it into parallel rows. Any fiber lengths that are too short, it discards. The carding machine is run by a woman named Sera, who probably is old enough to be my grandmother—though whose to say? Sera's husband died years ago, and she's still got kids living with her at home, though I don't believe any of them are as young as me. One or two have some mental problems…I really try not to talk to Sera about her family, because it's just depressing to hear about it.

My machine draws the product left from the carding, and forms the strands into a thick and loose yarn they call sliver. When written down it looks the same as what you'd get from handling wood, though when you say it, it rhymes with diver, not giver.

Spraying the sliver out into the yarn which looks like soft serve ice cream, it loops it in arabesque patterns which can be a little interesting to watch, but I've seen it so many times it makes me go brain dead if I watch for too long. My job is to ensure the Coiler works fine. I'm almost seventeen years old…old enough to really be considered a man, and yet I am working in a factory. That's simply because of my father's station, and the fact that my mother works here too. I am dependable, and prompt. If something does go wrong with the coiler, I fix it quickly, before production can be slowed too much.

Physically I am nothing to write home about, but you shouldn't bawk either. I am lean, mainly because no one in Eight has much opportunity to become fat unless you're a kid belonging to one of the rich families. I say rich, but really…they just have money to spend. All the working-class schmoes like me, which account for about 90% of the population, don't have money to spend. You buy what you need, and if you're lucky, you'll actually have enough to make sure your family is clothed, fed, and sheltered. There's no guarantee that is going to happen, in District Eight.

I have some muscle on me, and if I had a job which was probably more appropriate for a boy of my age, I'd even be what some might call muscular. As it is, though, I have a lean and stringy look to me like someone who might hunt things for a living. Not so…my sister is decent with a bow and arrow, but I've never been much good at it. Most of my life has been spent in the shadows of factories, under elevated train tracks, and in and out of the crappy tenement buildings that the Capitol has decided is the most efficient way for us to sleep. Those better off than us can afford to own homes, but there aren't many to go around. My family is better off than the average denizen of Eight, we really are. And as shitty as life is…I try not to remember that fact or I feel like I'm spoiled and can't complain.

The two things I hate most about myself, also happen to be two things that I can't change. Firstly, my name. Mom and Dad decided to call their only son Herod. What kind of name is that, anyway? Herod? It sounds more masculine than some of names of the guys I went to school with, but that was little consolation. Herod sounds to me like an idiot's name, plain and simple. At least they screwed my sister equally as bad, if not more…her name was Dyne.

That definitely sounds like a guy's name. Still Dyne was unequivocally girly, as if she wanted to ensure that every single person who came across her knew she was female, as if her long hair and high voice weren't enough.

Secondly was my height. I was going to be 17 in a few days, and I stand five foot six inches tall. What made this a complete travesty, was the fact that Dad was just over six foot, Mom was my same height, and Dyne was 5'10". My sister, who yeah a few years older than me, was four inches taller! 5'6" isn't such a wretched height for a woman, my Mom didn't seem short, by comparison. Most guys were taller than me, almost all I was friends with in-fact. Dyne looked tall and graceful, more like my Dad. I ended up with the lion's share of my mom's genetics, I'm almost sure. I was not tall, and though I had to admit I had a capable look about me, I didn't look nimble like my sister. Dyne looked like she could do ballet, although the truth is that I was our family's best dancer.

Mom had brown eyes, just like me. Dyne had gotten Dad's greenish blue ones, which were infinitely more interesting than my own. Here in District Eight, we don't have a 'look' to us that holds any specifics. We can be tall and short, pale and deeper skinned. Black people are not as prevalent as us whites, but they aren't as much of a minority as the smattering vestiges of other races.

My shift was supposed to be over half and hour ago, but as there was some problems with the roving frame, something that took the yarn long after my coiling machine was through with it, we were behind schedule. It was close to nighttime, it must've been…not that you could tell inside the factory anyway. Everything was bathed in the buttery and white lights on the ceiling or fettered to our various machines. There weren't any windows where we worked from. It could've been noon, or midnight outside.

Still, once this batch was completed, I'd be free to go…and by the looks of it, that was happening shortly. Mostly I wanted something to eat, and hopefully there'd be something other than cabbage soup and bread. We'd already been eating it for two nights…a third would just be adding insult to injury, as far as I was concerned. Yes…things could be worse…but it gets tiring not being able to complain, simply because of the fact that some people were worse off than us. I've received prejudice against me, simply because my last name was Telfin, and the Telfin's were better off than many of my peers. If we were doing so damned well, then why did life suck so much? I've always had a problem with that. Just because you were average, or slightly above average, didn't mean that everything was great. In some ways it was worse.

Unlike families who were scraping by, barely able to feed and cloth their children, I had to endure seeing that sort of poverty day in and out. I'd call us impoverished, but not when you compare us to the dirty kids who were starving or near-starving, who rarely got baths. One of my best friends, Etcher, his family was near destitute. They had six children and his parents had crummy jobs that even I couldn't dream about having. Etcher had told me once that I didn't know what it was like to be so poor and dumb, and know that things will never get better.

I'd yelled at him, saying that it wasn't true…but my mother and father had been able to, at a heavy cost, ensure that Dyne and I had received some education. Etcher was smart, really, smarter than me, considering all that he knew without any real formal education. I suppose there was a glimmer of hope for Dyne and I…though we were still working dead-end, mind numbing jobs. Sure we could probably become a Peacekeeper, Dad could pull some strings, but neither Dyne nor I saw how that was any better. Money-wise, sure…it was much better. But our family was getting by and would continue to get by in the foreseeable future. Peacekeepers died. Dad was lucky that all he'd lost was a foot and a few fingers in that rebellion. Being dead…now that was a truly scary proposition. Once you're dead, there's nothing else. You cease to exist. If I were braver, I might've told Dad to try and get me into Peacekeeper training, but I wasn't.

Finally my coiler is done passing along it's contents to the carding machine, and my supervisor, a stupid, ugly man by the name of Flince, lets me know that I can go home for the day. Once I am in the employees room, I shrug on my coat, and see that everyone else is bundling up, so it must still be chilly.

This time of year in the spring, you never quite know how the weather is going to behave. Most of my co-workers have left, but a decent number of them are still behind. That's when I overhear the two girls I work with talking.

"At least we don't have to come in for a few days." The older one whose name I was pretty sure was Teresa, was saying happily.

"Sure…'coz there's no way _you_ can get reaped."

"C'mon now love, you'll be fine. You haven't taken any extra tesserae, have you?"

"No…Mom told me that I couldn't. But really what's the point? I have for years…and she thinks one less ticket is going to save me?"

Everything got quiet, as I felt like I needed to sit down or I was going to fall down. The Reaping. I had managed to remove it from my thoughts for the majority of the day, but yes…our orders were being backed up because production was going to close down for a few days, for the Reaping.

Dyne was now nineteen—she'd managed not to have to go play The Hunger Games. My name was only on seven tickets…should've been six, but two years ago, I'd taken an extra share, which I gave to Etcher. I was far more worried about Etch, who had taken the maximum number of tesserae since he was 12. He was seventeen…and while there were kids who were now eighteen in the same shoes as him, Etcher seemed certain that he was going to be Reaped this year.

Even as the women tried to talk to me, their voices hollowed out as I numbly made my way through the door and out onto the covered walkway above the docks in which trucks were loaded and unloaded. A wind bit through my coverings so I decided to zip my jacket up, and was vaguely aware of myself pulling on my wool hat.

Tomorrow was The Reaping in District Eight. Etcher could be reaped…so could Tena. She was closer to my own age, having turned 17 about a month ago. Etcher was closer to 18 already. They had both been my friends for years and years. Tena was just as poor as Etch, except she only had two brothers. A family with three children could manage better than one with six. I could be Reaped too…it was possible. Sure I only had seven chances, whereas Etcher had close to thirty by now, but it's still luck of the draw.

Any one of us could be Reaped. Naturally the odds were with us, but I've never been a very lucky person. Same could be said for Tena, she and I always seemed to be naturally unlucky. The same couldn't be said for my best buddy Etcher…he was naturally lucky. Any game he's ever played, he usually wins. Though he had no money to ever bet, I remember there had been several occasions where I'd spot him a little of my own sparse money, and where I would lose…Etch would win. Not to mention the fact that he was taller, bigger, in better shape than Tena or myself, and would've been the most capable of us in the Arena.

I've got to stop worrying about whether any of us are going to get Reaped. Chances were, we'd be fine, and that ought to be the end of it. I stepped out into the wind, and discovered the tight but clean scent of snow on the air, even if none was visible. Must've been snowing in the upper atmosphere, at least…I believed that's how it went. Science was always one of my worst subjects, it never interested me much.

Indeed night had fallen around District Eight, and it was at night, walking swiftly from streetlight to streetlight, that you can really see how unfriendly, unclean, and downright dangerous our District can be. Crime was up over the past few years, likely because factories kept cutting back on their workers hours, and it wasn't as though things were getting any cheaper to buy. My best way to discourage this, was by keeping very little pocket money on me, if any at all. The bad thing about the tenement building that we lived in, was that it was quite a long walk from where Mom and I worked.

Of course there I go again, complaining when there were plenty of others who had it worse off. While we lived in anything but the high rent district, the monolithic tenement buildings and squatters hovels were sprayed across the landscape not far from the wharfs and factories by the water. District Eight hovers around a couple of rather large lakes.

The train station was a dilapidated little building, part of it's facade had tumbled down and was held up by sheets of ribbed metal. The entire thing was perpetually bathed in the glow of a light emitted from a mercury-gas lamp which loomed over the run-down little shack like an impartial sentinel. It smelled worse here than it did by the factory. Our cotton factory smelled of oil and metal, and machinery, but the winds here blustered up from the south and carried across the lake.

As I hoisted myself up onto the platform but chose to remain outside, rather than breathe the recycled air of the half-dozen or so commuters crammed into the tiny place, I caught a nasty whiff. The lake was so large it may as well have been the ocean, except that it was foully polluted. Certain types of fish lived in there, but not the types even the poorest of individuals would want to eat, or risk getting some kid of disease. The Peacekeepers didn't like us in or by the lake…I was never quite sure why. The way they treat us most of the time, shouldn't they be happy that one or two might accidentally drown?

There was some type of refinery on the lake further to the south and east. Where I lived in District Eight, it was nearer the northwestern portion, where things were still grimy…but not as bad as they were here, not by half. The smell off the lake wasn't constant, so I figured that it must've been because whatever they refined…was being refined presently.

"Hey Herod!" came a shockingly bright voice, and I spun around with a face full of trepidation.

I need not worry so much, it was Karrie, one of Etcher's sisters. She was about 13 or 14, and though not pretty like Etcher's mom, she had bright blue eyes and had a very nice smile. It was impossible for me not to notice because for years, she'd had a bit of a crush on me. As to why, I'll never know—there was not much to like about me, but Karrie Ronson had seemed to find something about me she liked.

"Hi…what're you doing out this late, Karrie? It's dangerous."

She shrugged her small shoulders, and pursed her lips a bit, "Mom sent me out here to pick up Jarem's medicine. It only comes in on certain days of the week."

Seeing this bright eyed girl, out here past sundown all by herself…it was…it was incredibly dangerous. Jarem was the youngest of the Ronson brood, and I knew from Etcher that his youngest brother had medical problems. With a family that was already so poor, I couldn't begin to think what his medication must cost them—no medication outside of the Capitol or maybe the Upper Districts, was affordable by any means.

"Still…" I looked around us, and indeed our surroundings were gloomy and windswept, but no perverted strangers seemed ready to lurch out of the darkness and snatch Karrie. "Do you even have a knife, or anything? There's a lot of sickos out this time of night, Karrie."

"No, but I can run really fast." She waited a beat and then added, "Hmmm," her blue eyes bright as they flashed off the glow of the lamplight, "you _worried _about me, Herod Telfin?"

Looking at her expression, I couldn't help but smile a little, but mostly I chuckled and waved her thoughts away. "Shut up." I knew it was not good to lead her on, and I wasn't, not even hardly, but if she hadn't been my best friend's little sister, I would've made the fact that I didn't return her feelings a bit more vivid than perhaps I had so far.

"Shouldn't the train be here by now?" she offered, blessedly. All I would've needed was for her to linger on the fact that I was in fact concerned for her well being.

I said, "Sometimes it's late. I'm usually on an earlier one, so I don't really know. Your Mom doesn't send you out after dark like this regularly, does she?"

"Not usually, no. But everyone else was busy, and we missed the shipment four days ago, so I _had_ to go tonight."

I was wondering just how old Karrie was. She was at least four years younger than me, and somehow she managed to go through life not as effected by the unfortunate conditions placed upon her family. Etcher was usually in a better mood than me, but Karrie almost made me feel like being pessimistic was a crime.

"What's the matter Herod?"

I didn't want to burden her with my heavy thoughts which had now transgressed back to the Hunger Games. Apart from being my best friend, Etcher being second-oldest, was bringing in money to his family. If he were to get Reaped…they would be in even more dire of circumstances. I'm sure Dad and Mom would be alright with helping the Ronson's out a little bit here and there, but even though we had some money to spare, it wasn't enough to say that our family wouldn't miss it. "Nothing." The train was now slowing to the station, the people who were inside sitting up and moving about like worms in dirt.

I waited until everyone else was on the train, then saw to it that Karrie made it on unharmed. Soon enough she was striking up a conversation with some overweight older woman who had such bags under her eyes, it looked as though they were beginning to melt. I never was a life-of-the-party kind of guy. I am social when it's warranted, I'll talk when I want to, or feel I need to…but it was my friend Tena who was the jabber jaw. She could talk and talk, though I never failed to appreciate the fact that when you really wanted her to be quiet, Tena would get the hint and not push her luck. She and Etcher were my friends for a reason; I enjoyed their company and they didn't expect anything out of me that I couldn't give them.

* * *

><p>Entering my own tenement building, I was overwhelmed by the scent of home which it held for me. Sure it was not nice, the green and white checkered linoleum lobby flooring was from a very bygone era, but it was clean. The people who lived here took pride in the way their homes looked. We tried to fix the problems that incurred with living in a building like this ourselves. It was with good reason, no one else was going to do it in a timely fashion, if <em>ever<em>.

We had six floors to our building, with three apartments on each floor. One to the west, east, and north sides of the building. The Telfin family was on the fourth floor, and our windows faced east. Any of the apartments on the east side probably had the best view, for if you squinted a bit, you could make out the lake on the horizon. The sun shown early through our windows, but I had grown used to being able to sleep through it. Unfortunately for Dyne, she was a very temperamental sleeper. Fortunately for her, now her room was at the far north-eastern end, and until summer came, that was about as much of a reprieve from the sunlight as she was going to get.

In actuality, it used to be my room, it was the smallest, and I was the youngest—not to mention a boy. Girls always seem to need more space to move around in. They always had more stuff. Women were great keepers of _stuff_, something that never failed to bemuse and sometimes annoy me. Dyne had moved out nearly two years ago when she was almost eighteen, but after a failed relationship, she wound back at home. Mom and Dad thought it unfair to kick me out of the room that had been hers, and now that Dyne had ridden herself of many of the stupid clutter from her youth, she found that my old room suited her just fine.

With the exception of perhaps one family on the first floor, our tenement building was pretty quiet. There were only two families with small children, both of them situated on the fifth floor, but it was a rarity to hear them yelling, screaming, crying, or laughing to the point of it being an annoyance. This was the only home I've ever known.

Turning my keys in the appropriate locks, I was assaulted with the smell of Mom's leftover cooking. The place was relatively dark. One of the lamps in the living room had been left on, but no one was there, in the pass-through dining room, or in the kitchen. The door at the far end of the hall was ajar. It belonged to Dyne now that we'd swapped rooms, and she had her light on. Our parents had obviously gone to bed already, for their door was closed and I knew that Dad would be up waiting for me, if he was going to. This twisted a little in my stomach, as he realized I was old enough now that he didn't worry about me coming home late. That part was nice—when I was younger it seemed like there was so little I could do right in his eyes. He was over protective of both Dyne and me. But now, realizing that my back hurt a little and noting just how tired and hungry I was, it stung a bit that he wasn't there. Given what tomorrow marked, it was peculiar, but I wasn't about to analyze just why he might not be waiting up for me.

I found a bit of leftovers in the kitchen on a plate, covered over. Some kind of unidentifiable meat, and a good portion of what appeared to be green beans fresh from District Eleven. I threw one of the vegetables, pod and all, in my mouth and my taste buds were thankful at the crispness. I barely managed to wait as I reheated it on the stove…I knew that there were machines which could warm your food up safely in a matter of minutes, but they weren't prevalent in District Eight. From what I heard, some of the Lesser Districts like Ten, and surely Eleven and Twelve, may not even have a stove in every home.

The green beans were absolutely delicious—stupendous even. I savored them first, they did wet my appetite for the rest of the meal. The bread was decent, though I'd had better bread in my life.

Predictably, the meat was so-so, but it wasn't inedible or anything. The best meats came from District Ten, but we often received smaller stuff from Nine. I'd been to District Nine three times in my life, never for very long. The landscape there looked similar to our own, but with much more greenery and rocks. Unfortunately the forests there were largely off-limits to hear Dad tell it, so the people of Nine didn't get to enjoy them like they ought. According to the Capitol it was their duty to take care of Panem's grains. Long ago, they had been responsible for trapping, furring, and keeping the nation in good food. It was this vestigial duty which brought some few people from Nine to hunt anyway, and sell it on the black market within their own district, and ours.

All I knew is that now, District Nine had plenty of factories and refineries pop up intermittently amongst the grain factories which accepted deliveries chiefly from District Eleven on a daily basis. Now they worked with metal, plastics, soaps, and all other kinds of chemicals that we here in Eight didn't bother with. It might not be the most exciting of trades, but the people of Eight were fastidious and proud that we were the garment district of Panem. Life here was rough, I can attest to that myself, but as long as the people in the Capitol wanted new clothing—and they always did—we were able to keep or specialty over the years. We made plenty of textiles which were used in a variety of ways, but what really brought the most money to District Eight, was the high end clothing bought by Capitolites.

Mom told me that once the Capitol had tried to manufacture clothing themselves, but they didn't have the experts. While a few different arrangements were tried, eventually it was decided that pretty much every last textile product used in Panem, would be made here.

My father's mother, whom I never met, was quite a seamstress apparently. She and her husband's work allowed their son a leg up, and it filtered down to Dyne and I, benefiting from that. While technically anyone can apply to become a Peacekeeper, it isn't common practice in Eight. Grandma and Grandpa Telfin had made sure their eldest son was going to have a lucrative career. Two of my aunts still worked directly in tailoring, one as a seamstress, and the other as a part-time designer. Still my father made by himself about as much money as my aunts could together, as a Peacekeeper. I guess if you're going to put your ass on the line, even the Capitol sees fit to pay you for it.

Not that they pay the tributes for the Hunger Games, of course. The victor gets a handsome sum, sure, but year after year, that means there's 23 families who are now grieving over the loss of their kid, not to mention the fact that they receive no monetary help for their loss. In a family like Etcher's, if one of the kids were to die…they'd really be better off. Growing up I tried to have Etch over for dinner as often as he could spare it. I didn't have a brother and I was anxious for his company, but this also helped out his family which was eternally in the poor house. And not just the poor house—the _dirt poor_ house.

Normally I might want to relax a bit considering I didn't have to go to work for a few days, but then again I didn't have to, because of The Reaping. That thought wasn't a fuzzy one that I wanted to curl up on the couch with. I took a shower, happy to discover that the water was nice and hot. Occasionally our water pressure as well as warm water, was a bit touch and go. It didn't seem to matter the time of day, time of year…anything, our water might come out lukewarm or would come out as what might've exceeded a trickle, but surely wasn't full blast. Catching my own reflection as I contemplated shaving, I decided against it—too much hassle and I'd need to look nice tomorrow morning for The Reaping anyway.

My nose was a little large on my face, but even then I was fortunate enough to inherit positive traits from both of my parents. Dyne was pretty, in a usual, reassuring sort of way…though it's bizarre to admit such things to oneself about your sister, even if they were true. She looked quite a bit like our Grandmother Telfin; we were lucky enough to have two photographs of her. Cameras were extremely expensive to own, but my father's family managed to get a few taken here and there throughout his lifetime.

I on the other hand, wasn't bad looking, really…decent, even maybe. My ears had been described as cute by a couple of girls, though I'll never get how someone's ears can be 'cute', or for that matter, 'ugly'. My eyes were a bit deep set, but I had a stronger chin than my father, and whether or not it was a little too big, my nose was symmetrical and looked well-appointed smack in the middle of my face. Unlike Etcher, I'd never had my nose broken. My neck was solid enough, though not downright thick. If I were a couple of inches taller, and packed on a bit more muscle, I might even pass for nice looking. Not the kind to stop hearts, but even to the most discerning of tastes, I probably was not what would qualify for homely.

Throwing on some clothes, I crossed our apartments hallway headed back to my room, when I saw my sister there standing in her doorway. "Hey…" he said a bit lightly, "Come here for a minute, ok?"

While we had fought frequently during our youth, Dyne and I did love each other—though it was still odd for her to want me to go and see her. Soon enough I was inside my sister's room, and she shut the door behind me.

"What. I'm tired." I admitted honestly.

Dyne sighed, her eyes narrowing a little, "Shut up for a minute, will you?" She crossed her slender arms before her and then let them drop to her side as she occupied the chair next to her dresser, leaving me the bed to sit upon. "Tomorrow's the Reaping."

Oh…it was going to be one of _those_ conversations.

"Yeah. But listen Dyne, don't worry. My name's only in there on seven tickets."

"Right, I know." She echoed a bit, though lines appeared on her forehead, giving her a pinched look. "It's just that I've got this really bad feeling about it."

"Shit Dyne!" I couldn't help but throw out at her, only vaguely aware that my Dad who was a light sleeper in the next room, might've gotten roused. "Why do you have to say something stupid like that for! Don't _jinx_ me!"

She frowned, looking regretful but the added, "Oh shut up. You don't even believe in things like luck, or jinxes. You don't even believe in God. So don't gimme that."

The existence of a divine creator behind life had long driven a wedge between my sister and I. While both of our parents seemed to have no feelings much one way or the other, that God could exist just as much as could not exist, I was certain that in a world as unhappy as ours, if there ever had been a god, he was long gone. Dyne vehemently opposed this idea. I was a bit of a pessimist, sure…I knew I was more doubtful than certain. "Yeah, but you do." I managed to say, wanting to make her feel guilty. "Don't say something like that to me. What if I get Reaped now!"

Dyne swallowed hard, and looked like she might cry. I felt instantly sorry for what I'd done, but before I could apologize she was talking.

"Lets hope that doesn't happen. It's just I was going to go over shooting with you, and all sorts of other stuff. I can't believe that we overlooked it this long. The Reaping never sneaks up on you."

"It does me, where've you been?" I was being perfectly frank. Maybe it was because as much as I thought the worst of people and situations, I tried not to dwell and over think them. I had purposely been trying my best for weeks now to ignore the fact that two days before my birthday, came The Reaping this year.

"I can't volunteer myself anymore, I'm nineteen." Dyne admitted, her cheeks getting a little flush. "Bad timing this year. Not that I could, anyway…"

It was true that The Reaping and the subsequent Hunger Games didn't always take place during the same time season, but what floored me more was the fact that my sister would've gone in my stead. Of course, it may have seemed like an empty promise, because her being a girl and me being a guy, she _couldn't _volunteer for me. Still I knew by the look on her face, she was entirely serious. I found all the words sucked out of my throat, so I sat there on the edge of her bed, a bit dazed.

"I talked to Mom and Dad…tried to, convince them to offer the Ronson's some money. They could have Etcher go, or even his brother whose just younger than you…"

"I can't believe you'd say that! What the fuck, Dyne!" I spat at her, my insides turning to fire as I finally processed just what she was saying. I jerked up from my seat, but seeing my sister's face, I slowly reclaimed my spot.

"Do you think I _want_ to think of something like that! It's just Dad and Mom didn't seem to be throwing out any ideas," she glared at me, even as a couple of tears were sliding down her cheeks, "but I don't want you getting Reaped."

Still a bit furious, I couldn't help myself from talking. "Even if that were to happen, Etch would never let anyone in his family go. _He'd_ go. And his life has already been hard enough…I can't believe you'd be such a snob and such a manipulative…ugh." I couldn't finish, because I saw her crying and I realized it was impossible to try and chastise her for such a thought—wicked though it may be.

"Mom was pissed too…so don't worry, it isn't happening." Dyne wiped away her tears, and kept her eyes upon me. "Last year you saw what happened to that kid from Eight. He got his guts ripped out by that hyena-looking thing. He didn't even die right away."

"_Thanks_ for that mental image. Really."

I was somewhat aware that my sister didn't know who else to tell all this too, I was trapped between being upset at her, and understanding fully. Year after year when I was younger, I hoped that Dyne wouldn't get reaped. Up until the last one, there was a chance either of us could've been going.

She sighed, "I'm sorry Herod. It's just—they're really awful, you know. Parker's brother was Reaped…he's still messed up over it, I…"

"Is _that_ why he said he hit you?" I couldn't keep myself from spitting at my sister. The guy she'd tried to have a relationship with ended up being abusive. I regretted it as soon as I'd said it. "I'm sorry…"

"I don't know what else to say or do." Dyne explained in a tone that was unusually flat. "I have this horrible feeling and if you get Reaped, there's nothing I'm going to be able to do. I mean, you're my brother. My only brother." And once more she was crying, so I allowed her to hug me, and I hugged her back, surprised at a few hot tears of my own.

"Listen, ok? I'm not getting Reaped. Everything's going to be alright. The one you really should be worried for is Etch. Or Tena…either one of them have much better chances of having their name pulled than me. But what good is it going to do us sitting around and crying? Whatever happens, happens. I don't want you fretting about something that you can't change."

Finally she came to sit down next to me, looking at the small, threadbare rug before her dresser. "You're so much stronger than I am, Herod."

Hearing those words made the back of my throat tighten and the muscles under my chin clench a bit. I was quiet, because I didn't want to cry again. Better to do it here with my sister, than out in public, like if Etcher were to get Reaped. Still, despite her saying all the wrong things as she often had a tendency to do, I was aware that Dyne was so upset because she loved me so much. That kind of feeling struck me in the stomach, and made a hole there, not letting go. Did she feel like this last year, too? She would've volunteered in my stead, if only she were able. This truth sucker punched me in the gut. Of course I knew I loved my sister and she loved me—it's a given. But we weren't the sort to have long meaningful talks under normal circumstances. She lived her life, I lived mine. But now all her love for me was inescapable, and right now it was heavy, like a lead vest.

I knew that I needed to get out of here and back to my room, or I'd start analyzing all that she'd said and start feeling anxious, scared, or overwhelmed. "Listen, I'm tired and everyone's got an early morning, tomorrow. Just get some sleep…drink some of dad's whiskey, if you can't," I managed a small chuckle and she mirrored it, "and you'll see that there's nothing to be worried about tomorrow." Boy if only I believed myself, I might be alright. If there was one thing I was always pretty good at, it was convincing others that I was alright.

After a long hug and a kiss to my cheek, Dyne finally let me go for the night. Shuffling back to my room, I shut the door and felt like collapsing. Somehow I managed to fling myself onto my bed, shifting around as I threw whatever I'd left there to the floor, I keep a downright filthy room. Why had she felt like I was in trouble tomorrow? Logically it seemed that she was just feeling helpless because I was in The Reaping, and there was nothing she could do about it. Logic helps me a lot when I'm feeling so useless and used up. Logically I was going to be just fine. Also logically, Etch had what, twenty-four tickets in the raffle? Or was it thirty? Tena had to have close to that many, as well.

Dyne believed in such hackneyed concepts as fate and destiny. Even if by some horrible run of un-luck that my name was pulled, it had nothing to do with kismet. Bad luck was so much easier to believe in than good. I have never been a lucky person. Still, there was no need to worry that this automatically qualified me as playing the Hunger Games. Was there?

* * *

><p>Every year the Reaping took place at our massive justice building, located in the central prefecture of District Eight. There were three different prefectures, and while any citizen of Eight was technically free to wander amongst them freely, most people tended to live their lives entirely within one prefecture. Sure they might visit the others, but essentially everyone they knew or cared about, was of the same prefecture. I belonged to this category. There was the north prefecture where I lived, but there was a central, and an east as well. Anyone was allowed to come, but all eligible tributes were to remain within the building, so there was precious little room for any of their families to wait with them. As I had for years before, I stood outside the justice building with my family, trying to talk rapidly and keep my mother and sister from worrying, and chuckle at the occasional quip my father might make.<p>

As long as all eligible tributes were inside the justice building at quarter-to-twelve, we may choose to allot the time before this any way we wished. My family had ended up riding the train in with my friend Tena and her family. She had an older brother the same age as Dyne, and one just a year younger than she and I. A couple of moments ago I had spied Etcher and the Ronson family, but when ours eyes met, there seemed to be a mutual understand that whatever we were going to say to each other, save it until we were inside the justice building. We needed our time to speak with our families, try to ally their fears, and basically say anything that'd been on our minds. Some years it seemed that the tributes were allowed to speak with their families before they were whisked away, other years not. I suspected it had something to do with scheduling…depending on how long the entire Reaping process was running.

We were all supposed to dress in our finest, but I had been diligent this morning not to wear my best clothing. Why waste it on the Capitol, anyway? Besides, Dyne had this sneaky suspicion that I was going to get Reaped—logically I knew this had to be false, so to make it seem more like a dress rehearsal than the real thing, I'd selected a nice-enough shirt and pants. I _did_ own nicer things, albeit not many.

The sun was shining, and though there was still a stiff breeze in the air, within the glow of the sunlight a person could get away with short sleeves. I was wearing a dark blue-gray button shirt, tucked into my second-best pair of pants, some trousers that were nothing too special, but as some kids didn't own anything nicer than a pair of pressed blue jeans or slacks that had obviously been patched. If there was one District in Panem, who ought to be able to look nice, it was us. Of course just because Eight citizens _made_ the clothes, didn't mean that we could _afford_ them once they had been priced and distributed by the Capitol.

There was a massive digital clock outside the justice building, which normally wasn't there. The red readout explained to us all that it was 11:36am, giving us some nine or so minutes until we had to get our asses inside. The penalty for not being prompt, was that additional tickets with your name on it was added to the bin for the Reaping. As to if they actually followed through with this or not, or just how many tickets being late might earn you, wasn't much concern. Anyone in their right mind wasn't going to want to find out. It happened two years ago, I remember. Some little blonde girl who couldn't have even been 12 by the look of her—though she must've been—was forced roughly through the doors by some peacekeepers. Her name hadn't gotten reaped, so really who's to say? Point was…unless you were fortunate enough to live in one of the Upper Districts in Panem, the Capitol and it's Peacekeepers can keep us all on our toes just by the threat of action.

I was vaguely aware that Tena and her brother were already gone, and in my peripheral vision I saw her older brother hugging her mother tightly. There really is no good way to go about doing it…the longer you stay with your family, the more knots you develop in your stomach and the more you don't want to leave them. I was the one who spurred my own relatives into action, explaining that I needed to go.

Dad had given me a long talk this morning, just the two of us while Dyne and Mom made breakfast. He gave me a strong smile, after hugging me and kissing my cheek. Somehow this action was very tender, for Dad wasn't the sort for much affection even in our own home, let alone publicly.

Dyne came next, crying openly and squeezing me very tight. "I'll see you later, ok? Don't forget if you are shooting an arrow, aim a little higher than you think you'll need." She half-chuckled amidst a sob, and I tried to smile for her, too. She told me that she loved me, and again hugged me so tight that by the time she let go, I felt a little wobbly.

Finally there stood my mother. Pretty in a housewife, working-class kind of way with her dark brown hair with it's wisps of gray braided along the growth of her hair, and then into a thick braid that didn't quite hit the middle of her back. As soon as I saw her, there was a hot feeling in the back of my head and I felt like crying. I couldn't help it, though even as she looked at me and smiled, I managed to keep my eyes wet…but not actually passing a tear. Although I spoke more with Dad, and on many levels was closer with my father, Mom and I always had an unspoken sort of bond. We were the quieter ones in our family, but she was speaking volumes now by the way she looked at me, hugged me, kissed me.

"I know I'll be seeing you later tonight, but if for some reason I don't…be careful, Herod. I'm so proud of you, and the man you've become."

Hearing stuff like that made it almost impossible for me not to get emotional, but she kept talking through that, realizing that it wasn't in my best interest to lose my composure.

"If you get picked, you can win. I _know_ you can," she added with emphasis through her teeth.

I was only sparsely aware of my father hugging my sister, both of them watching my mother and I in my peripheral vision. I knew that a lot of the tributes were filing into the justice building by now.

"I love you Mom." I managed, clenching my jaw and pushing all of my emotions down to my knees. I had to say this to her, I absolutely had to, but I'd be seeing her this afternoon anyway. Just tell her that, hug her, and be done with it.

Mom said, "I love you so much." These were the last words I heard from her, before I had to turn and head inside.

Amidst the throng of youth trying to get inside and be seated in a somewhat orderly fashion, I'd managed to actually find Etcher. He politely gave me a moment to compose myself, and then nudged into me with his shoulder. He'd always been taller than me, and stronger too.

"Let's hope Sondra Fillings gets Reaped, eh?" he teased, referring to a girl in our neighborhood who was a bossy know-it-all and a general pain in everyone's ass, including her own family. "I wouldn't be surprised if her Dad was trying to unload her. When it comes to money is ass is tighter than duck's."

I laughed honestly, because with all of my emotions so close to the surface, I couldn't help myself. I pressed away the knowledge that Mr. Fillings, cheap or not, didn't have as many children in his family as Etch had in his. "Hopefully she'd just slit her own throat, so as not to embarrass us too badly."

Dark laughter came from both of us, though it really wasn't because it was too horribly humorous. The Reaping was always a horrendous affair, no matter how you looked at it. Even in Sondra were to be picked, my heart would go out to her, I wouldn't be able to help it. The last time District Eight had won the Hunger Games, I was one year old. Obviously I can't remember ever seeing our District win the Games. A couple of times we came close…the year that I was Thirteen, there was a very crafty girl from the central prefecture who made it to the final two, but then was killed by her competitor. I was told that we almost won once more when I was three, but as far as I knew, that girl who got run through with a spear some four-odd years ago, was the best showing we'd made.

Peacekeepers stood shoulder to shoulder, armed and spoke in loud clear voices. They told us to be quiet, follow the person in front of us, and be seated as quickly as possible.

"Well, good luck man. I haven't seen Tena, but we'll see her after. Wow…lookit that kid, _he's_ twelve! I swear that everyone keeps getting smaller and smaller." Etcher was firing off.

"Shut your mouth." Berated the closest Peacekeeper, hiding behind a gnarled black beard and his issue helmet.

Etch looked ready to fire back with some retort, so I gave him a quick elbow to the ribs, and he dropped his smile and filed in alongside me.

District Eight was among the smaller districts in Panem, but we still had a decent populace. We weren't first or second, in terms of overall population, but we weren't at the bottom either, specially when you considered how many of us there were per square mile for the District. It really was a miracle that the Peacekeepers and the Capitol Reaping crew didn't have a full-blown riot with all of these kids, aged twelve to eighteen, in one place at one time.

Sad as it was, I supposed it was because after the sacrificial lambs' names were drawn by our escort, we could go back to living our lives. Sure it was bad, awful for the families of the chosen, but I can say with personal experience it is such a huge relief when you know that you're not going to face the Hunger Games. Two years ago, a girl from the north prefecture that I knew, was Reaped. I didn't know her all that well…only about as well as you might say you 'know' someone from your neighborhood. I knew her name, it was Raye, but I couldn't tell you to this day what her last name was, or even her brothers or sisters. Kind of sickening, when I pause and reflect. She died two years ago, but I can't remember her last name?

In Eight, as I'm sure is in every district that doesn't send Career tributes, it was best to try and move on. The dead were dead. They weren't coming back, and to linger in misery over their unfortunate fate really was futile at the end of the day. Our lives were so gloomy as it were; better to dwell on the happy times and try to forget the rest. Etcher was much better at this than Tena or myself, but thanks to him, he managed to keep our gray lives from being a total washout.

The cameras were abuzz around us, lights flickering and all in attendance was growing quiet, and eerily still. In the center of the main hall in our justice building, emerged two figures from all the other adults. One was our supposedly-elected local official, who looked pale and withdrawn, his clothing formal but due to his overall pudginess, not even tailored suits could make him look good. We in District Eight may not have been starving quite as much as the districts which were even lesser than us, but food was a tight commodity here. Even if this guy—his name escapes me now—was running for office, there's no way he'd win simply because he was obese. No one wants to get behind a politician who embodies what the people themselves could never hope to have.

The other was a lighter skinned black man, lean and lanky, whose name was Jarvis Wellund. He had been our District's escort for quite some time now, at least close six or seven years. He had sort of sad, droopy eyes but his smile was keen and he always looked as though he were enjoying a private joke. While this turned a lot of people off from him, I much preferred him to the stuffed shirt, blustering idiot who preceded him. Jarvis didn't like to hear himself talk, and this endeared me to him, more than anything else. He did his job, but didn't seem to particularly enjoy it. He was just going through the motions, year after year, but never did he seem lackadaisical or non-caring to me. I couldn't help but keep my eyes on him, all throughout the national anthem we had to endure.

Our politician was going on and on about today being a time for giving thanks and for repentance, reflecting backward, but also looking to the future. I hate politics so much, I literally was tuning him out. I glanced over to Etch, but found myself a bit disappointed when he wasn't there ready with a funny face, or even a roll of his eyes. He was apparently listening to this fat oaf, but I just couldn't bring myself to.

Jarvis Wellund had his hands clasped behind his back, eyes downcast. I wondered if he was from the Capitol? He never seemed to dye his hair or skin any odd colors—a damn near surefire sign that someone _was_. Was it possible that he was from Eight, and had somehow managed to get this job? I preferred to think of him as a local guy, maybe who felt that leading our tributes to the Hunger Games with as much dignity as he could afford them was his small way of trying to help?

It was a nice thought. Truth be told, he could've been a complete asshole for all I knew. My only exposure to the guy was on Reaping days. We hadn't had a victor since I could remember, so it wasn't as though there was anyone living that I could ask readily. Some of our past victors, who, incidentally, were now being listed off by the fat politician one at a time, probably knew a thing or two about Jarvis Wellund, but I'd never had any run ins with a victor.

Skimming through the crowd, I spotted Sondra Fillings of all people. She looked almost precocious in her velveteen and lace ensemble that made me want to puke. She was looking ahead, but I knew her well enough to know that she was thinking thoughts just as nasty as I was. People like Sondra never got Reaped…they would bumble through life, being perfectly wicked, but managing to not draw enough attention to themselves for most people to notice. If I believed in God, I would've asked him just then to ensure her name was pulled. Sondra had never done anything too awful to me personally, but she was extremely cruel to Tena, and this was a crime for which she couldn't be forgiven.

This prompted me to search out my best female friend, my _only_ female friend really, but Jarvis's voice startled me and I looked up to find him at the podium.

"Good afternoon." Jarvis spoke cleanly, without a Capitol accent. This helped me decide that yes, he was a decent guy after all. "Again we must respect our nation's Capitol and select District Eight's tributes for the Sixty-Third Annual Hunger Games. Before I go to the lottery, are there any volunteers this year?"

A few tight whispers here and there, but soon a pall was cast over the entire expanse of the largest room in what was our district's largest building, if you discounted factories. Jarvis glanced around at the podium, seeming unhurried as he allowed his question to linger on the air. He added simply, "Remember, you may do so at any point until the official Reaping has ended."

Volunteers? Anyone? Of _course_ there weren't any fucking volunteers!

This made me think of Dyne, who I'd found out just last night, would have actually volunteered to go instead of me. An onlooker who was skeptical as me, would've said it was an easy promise to make. Girls can only go in lieu of another girl. Still, I knew my sister, I knew she was dead serious.

"As there aren't any volunteers, let's proceed." Jarvis stated. "This year, I will select a lady's name first, followed by a gentleman's. You all know how The Reaping works, so know that it is quite literally the luck of the draw. Good luck."

Inside my head I thanked Jarvis for once again not stooping to the stand-by adage of _'May the odds ever be in your favor'. _I remember he had a while back, but a few years ago, he'd changed it up simply to wish us good luck. I saw Jarvis reach into the bin containing all the eligible female's names in our District.

Not Tena. Not Tena. Not Tena. Not Tena. Not Tena. Not Tena. With my eyes closed, I repeated this mantra to myself, hoping that it would work. Of course the odds were that she wouldn't be selected…but that whole thing about the 'odds' change, once you or someone you care about, ends up on the wrong side of them.

I opened my eyes a little too soon, just in time for Jarvis to be holding the marker which contained a name. My ears were burning, but I heard him say the name crystal clearly.

"Farah Gilderling."

Jarvis's voice echoed well throughout the massive chamber, all of us dead quiet. Anxious eyes moved about, though of course all of the girls in the room could finally exhale, for what might've been a very long time. The Reaping is an awful day, but at the same time, you can finally calm down and realize that you're _not_ fucking going to the Hunger Games. It's a feeling that you can't beat with a stick.

Finally there was movement, and even a few hushed noises and whispers as someone, way off on the other side of the room from me, was making their way to the stage. When first her head poked up, and then the rest of her, I had to do a double take.

She was an absolute mass of black hair, which from my vantage point looked as though it was wrapping from the top of her head, all around to nearly envelop her face like some sort of festooned hat from a bygone era. Her hair wasn't long, it didn't even reach her chin in most places, except that, as I watched her march across the stage toward Jarvis, she had very severe cut bangs. Now that her face was being thrown up onto the massive screen in the hall, I couldn't help but look more closely.

Farah had a short, bobbed haircut to be sure, all of it visibly black. So black it was almost blue. Her lengthy bangs slid from the crown of her head toward the front where they tapered off long and severe. Much of her face was obscured by them, except for an asymmetrical gash of flesh showing her nose, lips, and right eye.

Freaking _no one_ I knew, looked like that. That Farah girl looked as though she might belong in the Capitol or something, with that severe, and remarkably stylish haircut. People in District Eight didn't have enough money to actually go to a salon and get their hair properly done, like rich people. Her clothing was simple and all black. No person dressed monochromatically and had their hair like that, to blend in. Farah Gilderling was obviously trying to make a statement. I couldn't help but wonder if she expected to be Reaped? No…surely not. Whatever statement she was trying to make by her appearance, it definitely was not one which yelled '_pick me, pick me please!_'.

"Whoa…" I heard Etcher say to me. Without even looking at him, I knew his eyebrows were raised in that uncertain but definitely interested way they could sometimes get.

Farah was expressionless as she slammed herself down into one of the two available chairs.

Ok, I thought to myself, so Tena was safe. Now I just had to make sure that Etch and I were as well, and we'd be home free.

This time I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes, but I found myself watching Jarvis's hand extend fully down into the container with all the possible male tributes. I didn't hear my heart beating in my ears, it was more a muffled feeling that was reaching out to envelop me. Jarvis picked one and was withdrawing his hand. I watched him glance down at the marker, and then leaning in toward the microphone, said the name.

"Herod Telfin."

* * *

><p>Before I could even realize what was happening, my body was moving of it's own accord. I wasn't aware of my arms and legs moving, instead I was subjected to seeing them foist me upward from my chair like a demented marionette.<p>

I was halfway to the stage where Jarvis Wellund was looking down from his podium at me, when I realized I couldn't move any more. How the fuck did I get up here? Did he really call my name? Maybe I ought to just go and sit back down, so the real tribute could take his place on stage.

My chest was tingling in a way I'd never felt it before. Lightning had shot out to my fingertips, and then refracted backward into the middle of my body. My lips were tingly and numb, and my head was swimming through murky, dark places that I couldn't even identify. All the faces around me blurred into a surreal oil painting. It sounded as though someone was shouting my name, but I couldn't even be sure of that.

With my first step onto the dais where Jarvis and our fat-assed politician were looking at me, their faces and everything about them came into startling clarity. I saw the black-haired girl sit stock still on her chair, until she turned so minutely it was almost imperceptible. Just the slightest of motion, and her bangs wagged ever so slightly and I got a vague sense of where her left eye must be.

I see Jarvis's expression, ushering me upward, so I just follow the unspoken commands he's giving me and before I realize what's going on, I shuffle across the stage, past the black haired girl, and shift weightlessly into the seat next to her.

The fat politician was speaking again, and suddenly I can recall not only that his name is Oren Surdyk, first name spelled with an r, but that his title if Officiate Surdyk, and he had two sons and one daughter. He likes jelly beans, tea but not coffee, and his favorite color was orange. As to how any of this information was even available to me, I had absolutely no earthly idea, as I watched gads of young faces look up at me from all over the justice building.

"Would our most honorable tributes please stand, face one another, and shake hands in a show of good faith." Oren was saying, but naturally it was an order, not a request.

Feeling like a melting candle, I flushed forward and though I felt like I would fall, found myself standing just a smidge above my fellow tribute, who now I could tell, had hazel eyes. Weren't they hazel? I really could only see the one. I had to just perceive the other, behind her thick curtain of bangs.

I believe we shook hands, though I have no recollection of it. Just some smallest of assurances that I at least offered my hand out to her.

Were people cheering and clapping? Or were they screaming and jeering at me, at us? I was happy on some level that at least my fellow tribute wasn't taller than I was. It was bad enough being a perfectly ordinary height, if not a little short, but it'd be worse to be dwarfed by a girl when you were going to be seen by everyone in the country. I think the national anthem began, a few of it's bars sounding quite familiar, but I couldn't be sure.

My next conscious recollection was that Peacekeepers, at least half of dozen of them were escorting me and the girl with the black hair away from all the people. Lots of hallways, doorways, shadows and shapes that I could not make sense of at all. There was just one flight of stairs, but it was a long one. I remember those stairs very well. I could see the wide, low, and flat heels of my fellow tribute in front of me as she ascended them. At the tip of every stair was a line of gold, I remembered that vividly.

"Follow me, please." One of them said in a gruff voice. They were all armed with assault rifles. The one I was following was wearing standard-issue boots, my father still had his back home. He had a handgun, and a knife attached to his belt, as well was what I perceived to be handcuffs, and plenty of other things I couldn't make heads or tails of.

Time passed, I don't know how much time, but I think it was a while. What I was doing in that time period, or where I was…I have no idea. Hopefully I wasn't unconscious while I got probed by some nefarious doctor, or something. It is funny how time can go at it's own pace. Things happen all at once, or long periods happen where nothing important occurs. I believe I must've still been in the justice building, though I couldn't be sure.

Eventually I was shown to a room that wasn't large, but was well-furnished with a couple of long couches, one overstuff chair, and on the center coffee table was a small but well-appointed spread of snacks and food tidbits.

Unable to look at the Peacekeeper who'd led me here, or the other one who like the first, now hung back near the door, I reached for some of the food and stuffed it into my mouth. Tasted salty…was it fish? There were definitely crackers, and olives. I love black olives, but I've only gotten to have them on a handful of occasions in my life. I have no idea how many I ate, until there was some other person there, a woman. Oh, she had a face too, and she was smiling.

Behind her glasses, her red hair in a perm, she smiled and patted my knee as she leaned half over me. "Hello Mister Telfin, congratulations on being one of District Eight's tributes. Maybe you ought to drink some water? You look a little parched, Mister Telfin." She handed me a water bottle, and what else could I do? I drank…deeply, and sucked back practically it's entire contents. The redhead smiled and removed it from my hands, setting it down on the coffee table. I was now sitting on the couch, and she was half-perched, ready to move at a moments notice.

"Thank you." I said, though I don't know why. Good manners, maybe? Mom would've been happy with that.

"Oh no, Mister Telfin, thank you. Such a nice-looking young man, I _do _wish you the best of luck. But now, forget all of that. In a few moments we've arranged your family and friends to come and visit with you. I'll be just outside, if you should need anything."

When I saw my parents and Dyne, everything flew back together like a puzzle being rapidly solved. My sister was a complete holy mess, to put it mildly. She was sobbing so hard, it was almost unnerving just to be in the same room with her. She was trying to stop crying, but that seemed to make it all the worse. Mom was crying too, and I think Dad did as well, though they weren't seemingly as bad-off as Dyne.

My mom's name was Serina, and my dad's was James, though he went by Jim. They both looked like what their names might imply. Dyne even might've gotten away with looking like herself, but I never thought I looked like a Herod. If anyone ever could, that is. Dad was hugging me, while Mom clung onto Dyne.

Then Mom talked to me, giving me a few kisses while Dad let my sister sob all over him. I felt sorry for Dyne. She was usually so quick-witted and smart with her words and how she used them. Mom on the other hand, usually did not know what to say, but of the three of them, she'd been giving the best advice all day. She told me that she believed in me. That I could actually win. That there's no point now on thinking about _anything_, but winning the Hunger Games. Use my smarts, she always knew how smart I was—and get out of it alive. Mom was brilliant today at carving up the facts, and dishing them, and only the facts, right back.

I was a tribute for District Eight in the Sixty-Third Hunger Games. Fact. I was extremely clever, when I put my mind to it, and I needed to use all of my energy toward winning. Fact. I was strong and fast, or at least that was my mother's recollection of the truth. Fact. My family loved me very much. Fact. I was never to forget where I came from, or what I'd seen. Fact. Mom was so proud of me, and she'd be prouder still when I won, because she knew that I could. Fact. I _can_ win The Hunger Games.

…fact, or fiction?


	2. Getting there is half the battle

Tena had come after my mother, father, and sister. She'd been very quiet, and hugged me repeatedly. She'd given me a kiss on the cheek, and told me that I really was so much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. Tena reminded me that I was only so pessimistic, because I was too smart to let the wool be pulled over my eyes.

She was so smart, really. Much smarter than Etcher or I could've ever hoped to be, at least in the ways of the world and how it worked. Tena held my hand, because she wanted to. With her eyes meeting mine, she had told me that I was the only person she knew who could actually shut off the voices inside my head. That my instincts were right, and that I couldn't start over-thinking anything, or I would lose my way. Tena pleaded with me to keep an open mind. I always loved that she and I could have serious conversations, and she wouldn't dumb it down for me. Obviously I could not close my mind off to certain people or ideas in the Hunger Games, or I might die as a result.

I've always called Etcher my best friend, and I wouldn't dispute that, but when Tena was forced to leave, I found myself so drawn to her I almost wanted to scream out after her. The last thing I remember he saying, in that rather meek voice of hers that doesn't really at all fit her personality, "Goodbye." And she waved at me.

Next came Etch who'd attacked me in a hug, and started getting me laughing straight-away. About how stupid all of this was, and especially about this Farah girl who was the other tribute from Eight. Together we'd cleared the plate set out by the redheaded lady of all food, and she brought more in. Etcher had teased me about how short I was, and how all my fellow tributes had to do was hold all the weapons up and out of arm's reach, and I'd be sunk. Under normal circumstances people might've found that negative, but for me not at all. It was the crux of our relationship…chiding one another and laughing, and being stupid.

Eventually though, he turned a bit more serious, and told me to smile, and not take everything too seriously. If I would just relax, people would be drawn to me and want me on their side.

Etcher said, "These Hunger Games, man…you know they're really just for entertainment. Don't forget that. It's sick and it's royally _fucked_, but the Capitol just wants to see a good show. Like, don't forget that you are playing a game, Herod. Not just fighting for your life. I _know_ you man, and I know if you remember that…you'll be fine."

All I could do was chuckle, but he knew that I understood all he was saying. "Thanks Etch. Hey listen, once I'm the victor, you and your whole family are welcome to come live with me in that swanky Victor's Village."

Etcher laughed, "Of course." And I was pretty sure he might've had a tear or two slip down his face, but I pretended my best not to notice. Neither of us were very big criers, but I couldn't recall a time on-hand that Etcher had cried, at least since we were about seven years old.

"I'm so proud of you as a person, man. Like, serious shit. I really am. _Win_ this, you can. I know it." He'd told me. "I love you. Play smart, and win." He'd given me a bear hug, and then left rather rapidly. It was just as well, there wasn't a higher note he could've left on, really.

With his exodus, I realized that no one else was coming. Those five people really were the most important in my life, and just how…District Eight, or the Capitol, or the Peacekeepers, or the Gamemmakers, or whoever the hell it was _knew_ that…was beyond me. It wasn't as though we all filled out a questionnaire every year saying just who we'd want to talk to, if our names got pulled at the Reaping.

Unless I was being stupidly optimistic, and that was hardly a common fault of mine, I had received some really damn good advice. Even Dyne had managed to pull herself together and give me some words to ponder. Life sucked in District Eight, but Mom, Dad, Dyne, Tena, and Etcher—they made it worth living in. They really were the people I lived for. Getting smacked the face with such a jarring truth like that, almost made my head and heart hurt at the same time.

The door to the room I was being held in opened again, and I was expecting the lady with the perm, but ended up getting Jarvis Wellund instead.

"Hello." He started off smoothly enough, "I'm Jarvis, and you can call me that. Did you get something to drink? Something to eat? That's important."

"Yeah."

He cleared his throat, and went to occupy the overstuff chair nearby the couch I sat on. He had an indefinable quality to him. The way he looked and acted. Only Jarvis's words seemed to be made from stone. "Ok, so I know this is a lot to ask, and you probably either want to be alone or just—"

"Sleep." I admitted. Couldn't help it.

Jarvis cracked a smile and nodded. "Yeah, or that. But you need to decide who you want your mentor to be. District Eight has four victors. One of them, Arlisa, won the Twelfth Games. She's still kicking. She's close to eighty, but a few years ago, someone wanted her, and she accepted. Woof, Roman, Cecilia…they are all ready and willing to help you out. They're all good. I've got some materials here for you, if you want to review them, help you make an informed decision. Just know that by four o'clock this afternoon, I'm going to _need_ a decision, or we'll have to select someone for you. Nothing I can do about that."

"And what if…uh…"

Seeming to anticipate my question, Jarvis shook his head slightly. "I'm not sure who Farah is going with yet. It doesn't matter. If you pick the same mentor, they'll spend equal time with you both."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Are you from District Eight?"

Jarvis smiled a bit slyly, and shook his head. "No. But thanks for asking. Listen, you really need to start deciding who you want as a mentor. I mean we've got a tougher decision here. You got two ladies, two men. All of them won, but got there by pretty different strategies. And if you weren't told, the bathroom's right over there. There are Peacekeepers outside, because that's protocol. But they're not going to interfere unless you start doing something stupid in here."

I laughed frankly. This Jarvis Wellund was a bizarre man. It was a good thing, really…but he reminded me of someone playing at being a person, and was really some supernatural force. I don't believe in supernatural forces, but there was definitely something about Jarvis that was a little off. Didn't bother me, my opinion hadn't changed much from the uninformed one I'd made years ago when I first saw him at a Reaping.

He left without saying anything else, but maybe that's because he sensed that I didn't have any problems with him. My pessimistic side reared it ugly head again, as I realized…getting along with your escort, doesn't really do much for you. At least not _in_ the Games. It's your mentor that you need to connect with.

I started looking over the dossier-like files of District Eight's four victors. There was information that I could press a certain number on the television remote, and see footage of their individual Games. This took me by surprise…in all the time I'd been in here, I just now noticed the television screen mounted halfway up the wall. I was not a huge fan of the Hunger Games, Etcher was always more diligent about watching them than I ever had been. I didn't have too much of a problem with seeing people die—_kids_ die, and really what did that say about me?

As I reviewed some of the footage from Eight's victors, I kept coming back to the fact that to win you had to be very smart, very strong, or very lucky. All three would be preferable.

I knew I didn't want Arlisa, our district's first victor. She was 77 years old. It was not so much her age that bothered me, at least in terms of her strategies. The footage I watched of her was 61 years old but it was still crystal clear. Arlisa Trace had been extremely careful and entirely strategic in her Games. You can't rid yourself of those kind of instincts with age. Jarvis told me she still had all her mental facilities, but somehow it seemed wrong for me to drag a 77-year-old victor from her life to teach me what she knew, and to help get me sponsors. Just due to her age, she had the most experience of any of the victors, but that wasn't enough to change my mind.

That left me with three remaining options, and as I shocked myself by immersing myself in the information about their respective games, I saw that two and a half hours had rolled past. With the exception of a short bathroom break, I had been looking at these victor's information for _that_ long!

Each of them seemed to exhibit one of the necessary skills to winning. Woof was strong. He was in incredible shape for his Hunger Games, and had powered through by hunting for food, and killing his opponents. He had help, sure but he reminded me more of how I imagine Etcher would try and tackle the Hunger Games. By now Woof was getting older as well, but Jarvis had said I had four possibilities. Unless Jarvis really couldn't care less and his skill lay in acting, not being professional to the tributes, I had to believe that Woof would've been able to manage the task.

Roman Furyk was next, and he seemed to have a four leaf clover shoved up his butt. He made an alliance with two very capable young women that had my mind spinning to Farah. Was she strong and fast like the girls that Roman had chosen to aligned himself with? He escaped quite a few extremely nasty situations, and eventually he and the girls he was with succeeded in killing a couple of Careers. This gained Roman a sword, and he'd kept it through the remainder of the Games. In the end it came down to him, and the girl from District Six who had been his ally. She had a crossbow, and succeeded in burying one of it's bolts into Roman's stomach, but he was running at her. Another of her arrows missed, perhaps because a friend-turned-enemy running at you with a sword might be a bit disconcerting to say the least, and by then he'd gotten too close, and killed her.

Finally there was Cecelia Harrow, who'd won the Hunger Games when I was one year old. Pretty and soft spoken, she surely amazed most everyone when she came out the victor. Her strengths lied in knowing what to say to people, and when. She was smart, and hid from her competitors intelligently. She'd come up with an absolutely ingenious way to distract her opponents, allowing her to flee. When she was in the final three, she stayed quiet and out of sight, watching one of the tributes kill the other. Then, when he was at his weakest, she attacked and made pretty short work of him.

I knew Woof and I might be a good match, because he showed a skill set that I knew I myself didn't much possess. Still I was drawn more toward Roman and Cecelia. Brute strength and hunting skills certainly can win you the day, but somehow I knew that wouldn't be the case for me. Mom, Dad, Dyne, Etcher…they all said that I could win, and if I was going to prove them right, I knew it'd be because I outwitted my opponents, or just got damn lucky.

I had whittled it down to just two. Cecelia or Roman, Roman or Cecelia? With a little less than an hour until four o'clock, I made my decision. Somewhere I knew I probably should've picked the other one, but still in that knowledge, it just solidified that I went with the right one. Tena thought I was smart, and perhaps I had the capability to be…but I went with my gut far too much to really be considered 'smart'. Yeah I could weigh out options carefully, but I always yield to what my instincts are telling me. Probably should've gone with the other victor, but I'd made my decision and I was going to stand by it. There was a word for doing something the opposite of what logic tells you to. It wasn't stupidity, but it was _something_. Whatever that something was, I had it in spades.

* * *

><p>Somehow I got the feeling that I would have been able to speak to all of my visitors again, but no such luck. Don't know why I would've thought that, but when I had to board the Tribute Train, and see the bleak landscape of District Eight start to rush past, I realized that it was over. Chances were, I'd be dying in a couple of days and I would never see my parents, my sister, my friends, any of them ever again. If I stayed in the compartment they'd allotted to me by myself for any longer, I would want to throw myself off the train first chance I got, I knew I would. The mentor I'd selected was somewhere on board, but I didn't know where. Jervis had already told Farah and I that we would be meeting with our mentor later. He only told us what was absolutely necessary, but I didn't mind that about him. Why try and chat us up like we were best friends? He wasn't condescending, he wasn't overly talkative…he was professional at all times.<p>

Opening up the door of my compartment, drew the instant attention of the solitary security guy posted nearby. He was a pale guy with freckles all over his face. Still his arms were like tree-trunks which I was almost certain were capable of snapping my neck, or at the very least, pounding me into submission.

"Where are you going?"

"Is there somewhere bigger, I can go? I'm getting claustrophobic in there." It wasn't an entire lie, but I didn't feel like sharing with this perfect stranger that if I was left alone with my thoughts too long, well…I didn't want to find out just what might come of it.

He showed me down a narrow hallway, and opened a few doors. Finally, with the aid of an electronic pass card which was attached to him somehow or other, he opened a door which connected the cars. The sound of the train rattling so swiftly over the tracks was near deafening, and though there wasn't much room, if I really was serious about throwing myself off the train, this would've been a good time to do it.

Security guy seemed to sense my thoughts, and one of his giant hands went to the back of my neck, and all but shoved me into the next car, slamming the door back shut behind me.

This train car was not very large, definitely smaller than the one which housed my sleeping quarters, but it was cozy. A couple of tables with booths lined one wall by a bank of windows. The view might've been semi-decent, except for the fact that I was pretty sure we were still in District Eight. Except for perhaps some of the areas that the citizens weren't even allowed to go, District Eight was ugly. Maybe ugly wasn't the right word…it was boring. Sure we had some hills, rocks, trees, all of that good stuff, but everything seemed to have turned into this same depressing shade of murky grayish brown.

"Hello." Came a scratchy voice. It belonged to a middle-aged woman who sat perched on a high stool near what might've been a makeshift bar. She had lots of lines in her face, but something told me that she probably wasn't even the same age as my parents. "Can I get you anything?"

I felt like saying: Yeah, could you remove all those layers of plastic and glass from the windows, so I can throw myself out real good? I ended up just shaking my head.

"Just like your friend over there." She said and then sighed. "Alright, suit yourself. You'd better not be any trouble now. You wont, will you?"

"No." I replied. Friend? What friend? Then I saw, at the very back of the car, seated on the low couch which ran most of the length of that wall, was her.

Still dressed in black, she sat with her legs together and her arms crossed over her chest. Due to the way she was facing, her bangs more or less obscured all of her face, but as I approached, she turned her head and I could see that eye of hers again.

"What're _you_ doing here?" she demanded.

"Could ask you the same question." I decided to sit down on the couch too, but a good six feet separated me from my fellow tribute.

No reply, and she didn't even turn in my direction again. She was wedged up against the wall, as much as she possibly could be, as if every fiber of her being was screaming to escape. I definitely knew the feeling.

"My room was making me nuts. I had to get out of there," I shared with her.

"We're supervised in here, too. As if killing us for sport isn't enough, the Capitol won't even let us relax in peace before we get to die. _Fuck_ the Capitol." Farah spat with ferocity.

Ok, so she _could_ talk, but obviously her hairstyle was a warning to everyone that she was dark…the complete antidote to little Karrie Ronson who I'd met on the train platform back home, not even 24 hours ago. Kind of seemed like an eternity, now.

"No kidding," I sighed and spread my shoulders into the cushiony backing of the built in couch. "I keep thinking that now is the time I should try and find something good in all of this, but I can't." I was quick to add, "I don't think there really is anything good about going to the Hunger Games, don't get me wrong. All I mean is that, things are going to get a lot worse once we arrive in the Capitol. I wish I could just look out the window and relax, or maybe go to sleep. I felt so tired before, now I can't seem to _get _tired."

Such a wall of conversation spewing from my mouth, and when Farah didn't say anything, I was sure it would be indeed like talking to a wall. Except for the muffled sound of the train moving, and the lady by the bar turning clearing her throat, making small noises as she looked over her handheld computer device, it was silent.

"How old are you?"

The question caught me by surprise, and when I turned to look at Farah, I could see she'd shifted her weight, drawing one of her legs up onto the couch and was tilted toward me.

"I'll be seventeen tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's your birthday!" she seemed incredulous. A hand swept back much of her bangs and for the first time I could see both eyes at once, and a majority of her face. "That sucks." Her thick lips curled up into a whisper of a smile, but I could tell it was only because she was wanting to chuckle at the unfairness of it all, not to laugh at me.

"Yeah, I know. Some birthday gift, huh?"

"I'm eighteen, have been for a few months now…I think you could pass for eighteen too, if you wanted. I mean if you want to go that route."

Farah Gilderling was not exactly what I would call pretty, but there was something about her…some almost tangible quality that made it impossible not to want to study her for longer. For one thing, her eyes. Earlier I had mislabeled them as hazel. Closer inspection showed that they were greenish yellow, like a cats. They clashed fantastically with her jet black hair which I was absolutely certain was dyed. She had thick lips that, if you looked at them, made her seem more warm and definitely betrayed the whole 'girl in black' persona she was clearly trying to create. Etch would definitely label her as hot, but that was because he was drawn to girls who were, lets say 'edgy'. Nothing about her was unappealing or even unattractive, but at the same time there was nothing lovely about her either. Just that she made you want to look at her, and study her, like a piece of art.

Surely she must've seen me taking her in a bit, but for all I knew she was doing the exact same thing to me.

"What, you mean lie?" I threw out there.

Farah laughed, and swept her bangs off to the side with more purpose, this time her thick hair stayed off and allowed me to actually talk to her face to face. "Don't tell me you never lie."

"I didn't say that."

She made a slightly disappointed noise, or was it just her way of almost chuckling? "Well good. I'm not exactly Sally Sunshine in case you didn't notice. You look pretty clean cut to me, I didn't know if you were a goodie two shoes, or what. All I meant was that if you wanted to tell the other tributes you were eighteen, you could. I wouldn't rat you out."

Now I found myself mirroring Farah, turning to talk to her. Seemingly she decided that I was not an enemy. Or…was that just it, and she was trying to leech as much information from me as possible? That was an unpleasant thought, but one I had to consider. Any girl who dresses all in black, dyes her hair and gives it such a severe cut and all, probably had an agenda of _some_ kind. Still, I tried to remember what Tena told me; trust my instincts, and not to over think too much. I definitely would've liked to know just how this girl came about looking like that. Perhaps she was rich, and that's how she'd gotten her hair styled and dyed? My gut told me she was not rich, but I can't say it was right 100% of the time, either.

I managed a half smile, and nodded. "Thanks. I don't know what I'm planning on doing, to tell you the truth. Might be a little late to not have a strategy yet, but I guess I'm more of a on the fly, sort of person."

"Really, you seem like a person who probably thinks things out to me." Farah was saying. She really was different with her hair out of her eyes, talking one on one. I didn't want to make any snap decisions, but my initial instincts that her hair and clothing style might've all be part of an image, seemed to be on point.

"I don't want to come across like that," I admitted, surprising myself even with my honesty. "I want to look stupid, or at the very least not a threat."

Farah watched for a few seconds, and then cleared her throat. "I don't know if you'll be able to pull that off. You're not an asshole, sure, but I think the only people who'r going to be assholes, are the Careers. You've got a…how can I say it," she paused a moment. "You look able."

This was disconcerting news. Somehow I figured Farah here was trying to get inside my head. If she was, she was doing a better job of it than I wanted to acknowledge just then. "Able…to do _what_?"

Raking her fingers through her outrageous bangs, she swept them far off to the side, so they would stop falling in front of her face. This was not any easy task. "I don't know. I guess all I mean is that if I hadn't already decided you were alright, I might be worried about you."

This was indeed bad news, but wait a second, there was some good news in there too. "What, you think I'm alright?"

"Well sure." She said matter-of-factly, as if it was perfectly obvious to anyone, even the stupidest person in Panem, that she seemed to think I wasn't offensive. "Still I don't know if you want to play the aloof nice guy, role. I think it might suit you, but any of the smarter tributes are going to see right through it."

Farah was speaking as though we were already allies. I didn't have any problem with that, why make an enemy? She seemed pretty forthcoming and that too impressed me. "So what, your plan is to be the chick all dressed in black that you'd better not fuck with?"

"This is just how I dress. I did the hair myself. Well, and with the help of my sister." Farah shrugged, obviously trying her best to act as though it was no big deal, but it was clearly something she cared about. "Until this morning, I thought maybe I could try and get a job somewhere as a hairstylist."

I couldn't help but laugh a bit, raising my hands to ward her off as her expression changed sour. "No, I'm laughing because one of the first things you said to me was 'Fuck the Capitol'."

"Yeah, I fucking hate them all."

"Well, it isn't as though a lot of people in District Eight can afford to have their hair cut professionally. You seem to be good at it, so the only place you'd make any money is the Capitol."

Farah looked at me as though her opinion of me might be changing a bit, not necessarily for the better. "I would never live there. _Ever_. I wouldn't care who my clients were, as long as I had some and they weren't those morons from the Capitol. And you're damned right I'm good at it! I'm from District Eight. We make people look good. I'm sick of only the rich being able to afford to look good."

It was a nice dream, and I couldn't help but like Farah Gilderling more, after such a statement. It was better than me, who had no earthly idea what I would do with my life, if I could actually pick something. This 18 year old certainly was not what I expected her to be. She was being very open and honest. She was smart, though and smart tributes are tricky tributes. Sure there was time before the Hunger Games began, but assuming we were going to be allies, and that did seem the way it was heading, she might be hard to kill when the time came. Farah wasn't a dumb girl, not at all.

Soon we were talking pretty freely. The sun had gone down and the woman in the room with us seemed consumed with her computer. Could've been reading a book. No one I knew was rich enough to actually own something like that, but I knew they existed. I told Farah that I worked the coiling machine at a cotton factory. Told her about my sister and a little bit about my parents. I left out the fact that Dad was a Peacekeeper, because while I disliked the Capitol, it seemed that Farah's hatred for them knew no bounds.

She was from the east prefecture, where life sounded every bit as hard as in the north prefecture, maybe even worse. Her mother worked at a furring plant, where they also dyed some of the pelts that came in. She begged her mother to bring her some of the black dye, and used it on her head. Farah told me it hurt a lot, burned pretty badly, but she told her sister when to rinse it off, and though her scalp had gotten all pink and irritated, there didn't seem to be any lasting damage. Her sister was younger than her, though she didn't say by how much. She also had a brother who was 13, who had some hearing loss. Not to the point of him being deaf, but definitely to where you had to speak up if you were going to have a conversation with him.

Although she was into fashion, hairstyling specifically, she had the same job she'd gotten a few years ago, working in a sewing factory. At first she'd just swept and did janitorial stuff, but eventually they allowed her on a sewing machine where she dealt with pants and shirts, a lot of jeans apparently. Farah told me how she'd actually rather have her old cleaning job back. It let her move around, and though it was hard work, being in the near same position all day that her current job required hurt her hands, her arms, and her back.

There was no mention of her father, whatsoever. I wondered if perhaps he'd just abandoned his family, or maybe he was dead? While I was curious, I didn't want to jeopardize my fledgling relationship with my fellow tribute by prying too deep into her life. Whatever secrets she had, were hers to keep.

It really didn't take much time to tell someone about your life in Panem. The fact that I was better off than Farah, lived in a better house and everything seemed all but certain. But even my family, we were pretty destitute. No one but the rich, and the Capitolites had money for things like travel, or to really pursue any interests. Then again Farah at least had barbering and fashion. Made me wonder what the hell I had. With a financial leg up on someone like her, seemed to me that I ought to have some real goal or significant interests. Tomorrow I was going to be 17, and I didn't have anything that I was passionate about. Realizing this stung my bones. Even Farah had said she thought I looked like I would be 'able' to do something.

What was I giving to society? What was I giving to my family, even? These thoughts weighed heavily on my mind and I didn't realize I was spacing out for quite as long as I had been.

"Hey. Hey kid. _Herod_."

"Huh, what?"

"You just completely went blank." Farah Gilderling was telling me. "Out to lunch."

"I'm sorry. I don't know, anyway, what were you saying?"

Farah looked like she was sizing me up, perhaps trying to determine if I really was interested in whatever she might have to say next. "Who'd you pick for your mentor?"

There really was no point in hiding it from her, was there? "Roman Furyk? Guy who won the thirty-eighth."

She nodded. "Right. I went with Cecelia."

"She was my second choice. I probably should've gone with her, really."

"Nah, don't say that. This way we get two people on our side. That's always better than just one."

I supposed she was right. I couldn't say for sure just what Roman might be able to do for Farah, or what Cecelia could do for me. If nothing else, maybe one would help the other, once one of us died? Seems to make sense that they would rather see District Eight win, than anyone else. It was nice that she'd picked Cecelia, so that way I would at the very least be able to see both of the victors who I waffled between.

"I'm getting hungry." Farah said, but not to me. Her eyes were glued on the woman who was in this train car with us, who'd not said a word since her little back and forth with me.

"Yeah sure. I can get you something," the lady said, "but you're going to be having dinner with your mentors soon enough."

Farah looked marginally slighted, looking back to me as though I ought to weigh in on this. As I didn't give her anything to go on, she finally added, "You look good in blue, offsets your eyes."

I glanced down at my own blue collar shirt, the t-shirt I donned beneath that was gray, and visible as I'd unbuttoned the first few down from the collar at some point. I don't remember actually doing it, but obviously it happened. "Oh…thanks. I guess it's ok."

Farah was looking at me curiously, tilting her head just a little bit. "Such a guy answer."

"Uh…how else am I supposed to answer?"

Now she actually smiled, shaking her head. She proceeded to sweep back the bangs she'd just dislodged from their holding places. "Nothing."

I got the impression that she was trying to say I was simple, or perhaps that she had more life experience than I had. Seen more, done more. Seems unlikely, but still I didn't like the feeling even if there was no projected malice behind it. She could not have been lying about the things she told me earlier. No actress could've conveyed all that information with such ease and truth. Wait…maybe this was one of those instances where I needed to listen to Tena, and not over think things that don't really matter. I knew that about myself. If I was going to analyze and pour over something, it wasn't anything that ended up being of importance nine times out of ten. When it came to important shit, I would just trust my instincts and go. What kind of sense does that make!

Maybe at dinner Roman could teach me how to be lucky. There was no freaking way I was going to win without more than my fair share of luck.

* * *

><p>As things turned out, Roman was pretty funny. He kept the four of us from getting too serious, while Cecelia managed to make both myself and Farah feel as though we had as good of a shot as anyone to win these Hunger Games. Cecelia apparently had a whole mess of children, but only the very youngest was still eligible to play in the Games. If he could get through next year, then none of her kids would have to go through what she had.<p>

Roman, my mentor, had one child as well a guy who was 27 years old. He didn't see a whole lot of his son, but Roman was candid about the fact that he was glad he had him. Although he was only 40 years old, Roman's hair was completely white. Not even gray—just white. He was nice looking and considering that he was a smooth talker, I got the impression that he would've done just fine with the ladies, were he to try. Cecelia was plain looking, but she had very smooth skin and reminded me just a little of my own Mom. Perhaps for this reason alone, I was glad that I had not selected Cecelia to be my mentor. Once I really needed to get down to business, I didn't want any distractions. Roman seemed competent enough, so perhaps my decision to choose him hadn't been the wrong one after all.

Just a bit ago, he'd left my quarters but not before having a long conversation with me. He wanted to know just what my strategies might be, or what I was good at. I'd explained that I was not good at anything, but he insisted that every person is good at _something_. He warned me that while Farah seemed like an honest girl, once the Hunger Games began I couldn't trust that she and I could remain allies. He'd explained that a good alliance is what won him his own Games. Still, during his own year he had seen a couple of tributes who were thick as thieves before the Games, turn on each other and dice each other up as if they were anyone else.

The train would be traveling on through the night, and probably by early afternoon tomorrow or so, we would be arriving in the Capitol. Panem had extremely fast trains which were engineered in District Six, but this annual event the Capitol put on, had it down to a science. They wanted we tributes to have to decompress, if it was even possible, meet with our mentor, and try to be well-rested before getting to the Capitol.

That's something else…I ought to be fall-down tired, but I was wide awake. I sort of wanted to see Farah again, not necessarily for anything but some company. She and I had decided we'd be allies, and regardless of what Roman warned me of, for the time being—it was the only way I _could_ view Farah and keep my sanity. If I really thought about it, I suppose who better to kill me than her? As long as it wasn't a backstabbing…if we were the only two left, or under some circumstance where we must absolutely face off, better her than anyone else.

Roman told me flat out that my biggest problem was going to be that I was not particularly well-suited to any weapons. My sister knew how to shoot a bow and arrow, sure. I could nock an arrow and shoot…but only about half the time would I get anywhere near to my goal. Even less would I hit it. To say I was an archer, was like saying that someone from the Capitol was a salt of the earth person.

When my father had me practice with some handguns, I knew that I was a pretty decent shot. Roman said this was good, but that Gamemakers rarely allow actual firearms into the Hunger Games. I was anything but a crack shot, but even if I _were_, it might be for naught in the Hunger Games. Made sense I reasoned, and Roman verified that his views were similar. Guns were relatively easy, deadly weapons to operate. The Capitol wants the victims' deaths to be hard fought, or at least poignant if they could manage it. Suicide was also a very tempting option, if a tribute was presented with a gun.

Dad had taught me how to use a knife, and how to throw one…so I supposed that was something. Still this wasn't enough. I got the impression that Roman could alter his personality to match up with whomever he was around, and because I was a straight shooter, so was he. Being competent with a knife was good. It really was. But competent is hardly an expert, and I could be sure that all the Careers were going to be surgeons with whatever weapon or weapons they specialize in. He told me I looked healthy, and asked how long and far I could run.

I didn't know. Yes I knew I could run, but it wasn't as though I timed myself. I explained that I was a pretty good dancer. He didn't even make me feel self-conscious about it, but instead had laughed and told me that he had two left feet until he was about 30, when he finally learned how to dance. He even told me that he was addicted to something called morphling for some time. It was a painkiller of which I was vaguely aware, but I'd decided to ask Roman why he was being so open with me.

"Because I like you, and you're a gamer." He had said at the time. A gamer? I didn't ask, although I reminded myself now that I probably ought to ask him just what he'd meant, tomorrow. I certainly didn't think of myself as a liar, a conniver, or a cheat. After he'd just gotten through explaining how I didn't have any advantages with any weapons, Roman _couldn't_ have meant that he thought I'd be good in the Hunger Games.

Roman told me how he'd parlayed much of his winnings to investing in an upscale clothing company that worked between the Capitol and District Eight. Maybe that was why he was always dressed so well. He seemed to have more money than Cecelia. When I considered her large family compared to Roman being almost no-strings-attached, that made sense. He was a little too quick talking for me, but he was a pretty decent role model, in a lot of ways.

He might have liked me. Fine. I didn't have any real problems with him, which was definitely a good thing. At the end of the day, however, none of this promised me any clout in the Games. All it meant was that before I got murdered, life might not be as difficult for me as it is for some tributes. This was nothing knew. Life sucked in District Eight, but I still managed to come off better than a vast majority of people.

Was I fated to just be regular, ordinary, and middle of the road? Sometimes it seemed like it. Now even after speaking to my mentor…same case. I wasn't fat, I wasn't slow. I wasn't clumsy or completely inept. I wasn't stupid, I wasn't overzealous, I wasn't egotistical. I knew how to shoot a gun, how to throw a knife, but I was no expert. All of these things tried to add up to something good, but all I could see is that I wasn't a _total_ loss. The Hunger Games weren't something that you could do half-assed. If you finished well, good for you…but that wasn't going to save your life, now was it? Winner take all. Literally.

So Roman Furyk liked me. Maybe I ought not so easily dismiss this. Cecelia and I might not have connected quite as well. If he liked me, then he was going to truly root and work for me. Perhaps get me some sponsors. That was excellent, really. I had seen a Hunger Games where, without some very key silver parachutes from sponsors, the girl who'd won surely would've died. Wow. Maybe Roman would be able to send me in a gun, or something truly awesome so I could mow down my opponents in short order!

Yeah. Right. Maybe all the Careers will just lay down on the ground and wait for me to slit their throats, too.

Sitting up in my bed, I could see very well because my eyes had adjusted. It wasn't pitch black anyway, with some moonlight filtering in through the window, even though my curtains were drawn. Roman was a smooth talker, yeah, but some of the Capitol sponsors were smart, too. I didn't want him coming across like a greasy salesman on my behalf. They were going to sponsor me if they were drawn to me for some reason or another. One reason might be because they thought I was going to win. With my lack of obvious talents that would be helpful in the arena, that possibility was gone. The only option I was left with, was the that people needed to like me, something about me. Either my story or personality…something to make me stand out and want them to back me. What the hell was I going to do? This is the part of the games Etcher wouldn't have had any problems with. He was funny, charming, and easy-going. His pre-game interviews would've gone smoothly.

My best friend had even told me that it was all entertainment. I needed to entertain. I had a good enough sense of humor, sure, but that didn't mean that I was funny. I needed an angle to play, and fast. Farah already had hers…she was going to be dramatic in black and act tough. Honestly I was not so sure that was the best idea for the Hunger Games. Why give the Careers, or anyone for that matter, a reason to think you a threat? Better for them to think you a dunce…then maybe they wouldn't put killing you so high a priority.

But how the hell was I supposed to reinvent myself in some new way that could appeal to the potential sponsors, but not show my fellow tributes that I was in any way a threat? Tricky. Very, _very_ tricky.

Inhaling deeply I pictured Tena's face and remembered her telling me not to over think. That is precisely what I had been doing. I ought to be asleep already, but I was fidgety and uncomfortable. The temperature in my sleeping car was just perfect, regulated by my own hand at the thermostat.

What I needed, was to sleep. Just sleep, and deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Much easier said than done.

* * *

><p>Near blinding light jerked me soundly from my dreams and my eyes snapped open suddenly, though I almost yelped against the harsh lighting, and rolled over in my covers, trying to orient myself.<p>

"Good morning sunshine." Came a voice that I didn't recognize. My faced pinched up like an old rag and I chanced opening my eyes until finally they acclimated themselves to the room.

Roman Furyk was standing near the foot of my bed, looking extremely dapper with his hair perfectly coiffed, dressed in a smart black suit and white shirt. He had a slightly apologetic but mostly expectant expression. "Time to get up, Herod. Today's one of the most important if your life, trust me. We'll be arriving in the Capitol a little earlier than expected, should get there in oh," I foggily watched him check his watch, "about an hour and a half, I'd say. Your stylists want to have a look at you once we get to the Capitol, so you're going to have to shower and get dressed. Breakfast is waiting for you just down the hall, unless you'd rather take it here."

"Huh—oh…uh, I mean, no that's fine, I'll get in the shower." In truth I was just barely making sense of anything happening around me. Usually I slept pretty lightly, but today I had been roused from the deepest of sleep.

"Your shirt and jacket are hanging on the rack over there, the tie too. Should be toiletries in the bathroom. Do you need some coffee? Tea maybe? C'mon Herod…get up." Roman uged, his brown eyes always having a slightly squinted look to them, but right now they had a look of urgency in them. "And don't give me that face. Any tribute of mine is going to look sharp. I suppose you don't have to wear the jacket, but the tie isn't optional." He leaned over and gave my leg a smack through the sheets. "Get up. I'll be back to check on you in 15 minutes." Now he was heading for the door of my room. Opening it, he turned back and gave me a whisper of a smile. "Oh, and happy birthday."

Tea…I'd only had tea twice, and I'd never had coffee in my life. Roman was in a crazy mood it seemed, but I managed to throw him a, "Thanks." Just before he shut the door and left me to my thoughts. There were a couple pots of presumably coffee and tea on a silver tray on my dresser, near the door. Fifteen minutes…that wasn't a lot of time. I did not linger in my showers or anything, but as I was literally rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, it wasn't much to get moving.

On my way to the bathroom, I saw the clothing Roman had selected for me. A nice white collar shirt, a pair of very nice slacks, a jacket, and a tie. I'd never worn a tie in my life. It was nice that Roman was trying to have me make a nice impression, but unlike him I was not in the garment industry. Technically I _was_, but only at the basest level. Farah should have been paired up with Roman, they would've looked smart and classy together. Back home 'dressing up' for me consisted of wearing a shirt with a collar.

The shower's hot water pressure left a little to be desired, but I was quite used to that back home. It was beneficial today, as it invigorated me and any remnants of my grogginess went down the drain. The shampoo smelled better than anything I'd ever used on my body in my entire life. Same went for the soap. It left behind a citrus smell on my skin that was perceivable but hardly overpowering.

My hair was definitely on the shorter side, certainly long enough to comb or run your hand through, but it was far from the shagginess I'd had it in for much of my youth. Brushing my teeth I realized that I hadn't done so in probably too long. Oral hygiene existed in District Eight, albeit not to the degree that we probably would've liked. After brushing the scum off my teeth and using dental floss, I looked at my own reflection. I was liberal with the lotion that had been left for me, rubbing it into my skin where it absorbed almost instantaneously. I couldn't stop myself from checking out my own reflection in the mirror. The bathroom was tiny, but the mirror was disproportional and large.

Perhaps just a trace of my lack of sleep was beneath my eyes. I was seventeen already—I would've turned it some time during the early, early morning. I shaved, and not quite used to this nice of a razor, was surprised to find how easy it was not to cut yourself. Of course right about that time, I did knick just above my chin, but nothing too terrible. If Roman was going to try and have me look all presentable, I opted to go ahead and comb my hair. Nothing too specific, I was no wannabe barber like Farah, but it looked more maintained than usual, at the very least.

Just by the time that I had zipped and buttoned up my slacks, my collar shirt tucked in, Roman had burst back into my quarters with little fanfare. Looking over at me, he had a smile on his face that made me wonder just what earthly right it had doing there.

"What?" I pretty much demanded.

"Nothing. You clean up very nice, kid. C'mon lets your tie and jacket on."

Looking at him in the reflection of the mirror in my sleeping quarters, I made a face. "I don't know how to do a tie. I think maybe you've forgotten what it's like to be poor."

His mouth opened as if he was going to shoot me down, but after a moment his face twisted into a mask of something that I didn't really intend for. Obviously I might've hit a little too close to home, but I certainly hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable or anything like that. Roman looked slightly ashamed as he threw the tie around his own neck, and began manipulating it silently.

"I don't see why I have to wear all of this. I don't want to come across like a snob."

Roman's eyes jerked up and he shook his head, his eyes seeming to enjoy a joke that I wasn't privy too. "Just, trust me alright?"

What choice did I even have? "What's this for?" I inquired of the small bottle of something-or-other on the dresser. I had a couple of possibilities running around in my head, but all of them were probably wrong.

Lifting the tied, but slack tie from off his own head, he threw it over a hook that was affixed to the side of the dresser and cleared his throat. "Cologne. If you don't like it never mind, but if you do…just use one squirt."

It smelled heavy, maybe a little bit spicy but not at all off putting. Still not that I'd never worn cologne before, but somehow this scent seemed to fit someone like Roman, all dapper and smooth talking, than stupid old me. Nevertheless it was my birthday, so I followed his instructions with the cologne, as well as throwing the tie around my neck, and cinching it up to my neck. It felt a bit bizarre, sort of a vague sensation of being strangled, but nothing close to that much pressure. I wasn't so sure that I liked ties.

At the breakfast table, I found Cecelia looking prettier than she had last night. Having her hair up suited her, made her look younger by at least five years. She shot me a big beaming grin when I entered the dining car, and seated nearby was Farah whose hair had been kept in the same style as yesterday, but her clothing was more well…girly.

"Good morning, ladies." I managed, feeling like more of a gentleman all dressed up in a suit, even if it was a casual one, with Roman looking classy as all get out next to me with his fancy watch and pressed clothing.

"Happy Birthday." Were the first words out of Farah's mouth, and I was astounded as to how much better I thought she looked, out of such depressing clothing. In the morning sunlight I could see more of her natural coloring, perhaps a freckle or two on her cheeks. Her cat-like eyes looked far less lethal in bright light. I could've given her a hug, but obviously I did not. Just the thought of that left me feeling a bit odd as I took my place at the table.

"You look very nice." I said. It was a fact. I wasn't flirting, I wasn't even very good at it if I _had_ been trying.

Cecelia had wished a happy birthday too, obviously not aware until this very moment that today was it. "Wait until the stylists in the Capitol get done with her. She'll be lovely."

Farah just cleared her throat and after a moment said with emphasis, "You do too, Herod."

It seemed that no one was going to tell Roman that he looked nice, but it was probably unnecessary. Of the four of us, he was the most well put-together on a regular basis by far. Suppose it was necessary when he was invested or whatever, in a clothing company.

Breakfast consisted of way too many choices, nearly all of them ones I'd never been privy to make before. I had all kinds of fruits I'd never even heard of, fresh pancakes, fried eggs, crispy bacon. I like traditional stuff, but Farah opted for some kind of omelet, more fresh fruit than I'd consumed, and I was quite sure she was drinking coffee. Not wanting to look stupid or anything, I stuck to milk, and a couple of kinds of juice—no chance of looking a fool, there. As a topper to all of this, a small square of what looked like chocolate cake was brought out with a solitary candle, flame wavering atop it. Just for me.

Cecelia was getting the most emotional of anyone, she was smiling so big and trying to hide the fact that a tear or two hadn't slid down her cheeks, but I noticed. Thankfully no one sang, but she, not Roman, said, "Make a wish."

Might've seemed like bad form under the circumstances, but I was completely overwhelmed that anyone had bothered to remember it was my birthday with so much else going on. Our conversation during breakfast had consisted on just what was going to happen to Farah and I once we entered the Capitol. Sounded like we'd be attacked by stylists…maybe Farah would enjoy that, but I sure as hell wasn't going to. Then we'd have the Opening Ceremonies this evening. Roman had been right, today was one of the most important days of my life.

There really was only one wish to make. Dyne was superstitious about that sort of thing, that you had to close your eyes and never tell anyone what you wished for, but I didn't take to such falderal. Blowing out my candle, no one clapped thank goodness, but Roman, Cecelia, and Farah were all smiling at me. Farah actually had a very nice smile when she put some effort into it, framed by those big lips of hers.

After wishing me a happy birthday once more, the ladies retreated. Slightly confused, Roman's expression seemed to answer all questions and after they'd departed, he gave me a closed-mouthed smile and a soft nod.

"Probably just talking strategy, or maybe girl-talk. Don't know, but until we see who you're up against, I'd say we cannot worry a lot about what Farah is or isn't going to do. You're allies for now, and that's good enough. You too have discussed it at length?"

"I wouldn't say at _length_…" I admitted, marginalized by the change in conversation. This was very likely the last birthday I was ever to celebrate, and returning to the Hunger Games made me sad. "Yeah, we agreed we wouldn't kill each other unless we were the only two left."

Roman Furyk nodded a bit stonily, "Lots of people promise that. But I'd have to say she seems trustworthy enough. I think you're the better liar out of the two of you, so that's good."

Watching my mentor continue to talk, I realized that I did make the proper selection with him, over Cecelia. She was probably a better _person_—that much could be known within the first couple of minutes of meeting them both—but this didn't mean that Cecelia Harrow was the better mentor. He, like Jarvis Wellund my escort, was a smooth operator. At least that's what Mom would've called them, had she met them. I couldn't tell anyone why, as I didn't know myself, but I must be drawn to those types of guys. They allowed my mind to remain relatively clear, for they were concise and not at all erratic.

Was Roman trying so hard, because as he'd said, he liked me? I could tell he had a bit of pride in him…surely it would've been a tremendous ego boost to mentor the winner? Not to mention the prizes associated with such a position. I may have been way off base, but I wondered if Roman might not have seen a bit of himself in me. I was never the most book smart person in my class, but my emotional intelligence has always been pretty decent.

"Well?" Roman was saying.

"What? Huh…what!" I said, realizing I was not paying attention as he spoke, and felt pretty stupid.

He nodded some, shaking his head which only made me feel all the more inadequate. "Nothing. I think we're set for now. We'll talk more once we get to the Training Center and I can see what you can do, and you can see what your competition can do. You should relax now, Herod. Really. You'll want to see the Capitol as we come up on it. Whatever your opinions," ours eyes meeting proved that he knew I was no fan of the Capitol, "it's amazing to see for the first time."

The Capitol. We were almost there already. I was seventeen, and I was going to see the Capitol. Roman was right. Whatever his reasoning, I did want to just relax now. I might die in a few days, but today was my damned birthday. Why not try and enjoy the days left that there were to enjoy?

"I'll be right back." He said, rising near soundlessly.

I looked over the detritus of our four person breakfast…my untouched bit of chocolate birthday cake. I cut a big piece off with my fork and as it touched my tongue, my taste buds exploded. This was so rich. Overpowering almost. Not at all like the bits of chocolate I had tasted before, back home. No wonder the people in the Capitol were either slightly or undeniably overweight as often as they weren't. I didn't analyze it any further than that. Not right now.

Right now, I, Herod Telfin, was going to try very hard to have my cake and eat it too.


	3. Happy Birthday, I Guess

Despite my best efforts not to be impressed by the Capitol, it was, for lack of a better term, impressive.

So many people teeming, all the architecture was magnificent, the streets devoid of any type of clutter or litter. I seriously did not see one single discarded food wrapper blowing around, or any graffiti on any wall. You could find either in high numbers back home in District Eight, but here everything was perfectly appointed. The only painted walls were that of interesting, evocative, and tastefully inspiring murals. Was there a 'bad' part, I just wasn't seeing?

Even if the scaly, flickering fish that splashed about beneath the crystal clear water of a fountain I couldn't help but be drawn to, looked clean. Surely the Capitol had more magnificent fountains, I'd even seen one or two, but this one had been pretty with it's stone coloring and slight lines. I never knew much about art, and I doubted seriously that I was going to suddenly become a real appreciator of the stuff…but that fountain I had liked. It made the perfect amount of noise, showered in the perfect background sounds from the city. There were plenty of lovely things I'd seen, although perhaps all too briefly, but that fountain and the small square it occupied, was my most favorite.

Unlike Farah who seemed to grow more and more sick and nauseated at each sight, I couldn't say the same. I knew I hated all these people, it was disgusting how they grew fat off the blood, sweat, and tears of the rest of Panem. Still I guess I was not bitter enough to be unable to appreciate the beauty of the Capitol. I could tell that Farah had grown frustrated and didn't want to see any more. She was all too willing to be enveloped by whatever next stage awaited us there, but I was thankful that Roman made it so I could do a little sightseeing. Not the sort a real tourist might receive, but each place I saw, only made me want to see more. Was I so hopelessly shallow that I didn't see why it was wrong to appreciate the beauty to be found here?

How had Roman known that I would've liked the Capitol's sights—the cleanliness and the archaic blending with the ultramodern? Just because I could appreciate the surroundings didn't mean I had to enjoy the people within it. Before too long, however, he'd explained that I'd be heading to the remake center. Apparently I would not be seeing him again until after the Opening Ceremonies which were slated for tonight.

Away from all of the glitz of the Capitol, I was being rapidly speeded toward what must've been the remake center. When I finally got there, I was hurriedly rushed into an elevator, down a corridor, through one room, into another, and finally into the last room where a couple of extremely disturbing looking people were awaiting my arrival.

It had unnerved me that I had found their city so attractive in so many different ways, but now looking at the two people who were sizing me up, the male impassively, the female through a silly smirk, I believed I'd almost never seen a more off-putting pair in my entire life.

The guy was tall and quite skinny, with short somewhat non-descript hair. All of that would've been alright, except that he had an outrageous nose ring, his clothing was flamboyantly eye-gouging, and the fact that all of the skin I could see was dyed a dozy, sickening shade of lavender. He was like some vomitous, pastel-colored walking stick, or preying mantis. There could've been some tattoos on his arms, but I had had enough of looking at him, so I averted my eyes to the girl who was nearly a whole head shorter than he.

This was not much better.

The broad had thick, almost rope-like braids of platinum blonde hair jutting up from her skull and winding and twisting down to the middle of her back and chest. It looked to me as though someone had tried to strangle her with thick nautical grade roping and left the murder weapon right on the body. Speaking of that, she was very scantily clad, with a multitude of cut outs on her ensemble which revealed the curves of her body. That might've been alright, except that she was quite skinny, and seeing her ribs and collar bones poke out at odd angles…surely I was making a face. Her lipstick was overdone, and her perfume was far too strong.

"Herod Telfin, right?" offered the man, whose voice was a bit high pitched, but not as exaggerated and foppish as I might've expected, given his appearance.

"Yeah, that's me." I managed, deciding to look at his hairline. There was nothing unsettling about that. Still I could see the mess of hair, bones, and slutty clothing which comprised the girl giving me the once over, one of her penciled in eyebrows arching so high it was almost unreal. Not that I tried to notice. With all that hair pulled away from her face, it showed too much of the shape of her skull and it was extremely unsettling.

The man didn't seem to care that I might've had an offensive look about me, he didn't offer his hand, but proceeded with business just the same. "My name is Filo, and this is Ziana. It's our job to make you look good. Given that you're one of Roman's, you look a sight better than a lot of 'em that come in." His eyes were on me, but it was clear that he was truly speaking to that creature whose name was apparently Ziana. "Sterile and horribly boring as his sense of style is, at least you don't look half bad in that tie."

"I bet he'd look better out of it." Ziana said huskily, and I instantly felt violated. Still she cleared her throat, as if trying to keep a modicum of professionalism, and tossed one of her big, swollen-looking hair braids back over her shoulder. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen." I was hardly about to open myself up to whatever indignities they had in store, were they to discover that today was my birthday. Something about these two just made me want to avert my eyes and shrink away at the core my being. I guess even the Capitol has it's good and bad sides. I'd seen the pretty…now I got the ugly.

"Take off your clothes, please." Filo ordered, though there was a no-nonsense, flat smile accompanied with it. "I need to see what it is I am dealing with, here."

"What?" I said. Roman had prepped me for this, but not enough clearly. He didn't say I'd actually have to take off my clothing…he just said the prep team would make me look my best.

Ziana laughed, taking a step toward me, "Come here kid, I'll help you."

"_No_." I practically barked at her. When Ziana and Filo exchanged glances, I felt my cheeks and ears growing a little red, but shook my head, trying to stay in…well, was control even the right word? "No thanks, I…I'll do it."

Disrobing my clothes wasn't my most favorite of things to do anyway, let alone in front of this creepy purple-skinned guy, and his lecherous-looking bony assistant girl. Still I managed to do so without any problems really, and I stood before the two of them in my underwear.

"Those have got to come off, too." Filo informed me. At least he didn't seem to be deriving any particular pleasure from this…which made him about one eighteenth more likeable than Ziana who'd already gone and fetched…I didn't even know what the hell all of it was. Were they going to just look at me naked, or were they going to tattoo me and paint my skin weird colors too? Lets fucking hope _not_, eh?

About five minutes later, Filo and Ziana had gone to work on my body like it were their own. As sickening as Ziana made me feel to my stomach, I got the impression that Filo was the real creep in the room. Just because he was more professional didn't make him any better.

Some small woman wearing glasses came in and helped them a bit…she gave me a pedicure and was doing the unfriendly task of filing and abrading the dead skin from my toes and feet. That was far less invasive than some of what was going on elsewhere. I lay there, completely nude, one arm brought up over my head, gripping that arms wrist lightly with my other hand. I didn't want my arms, which apparently had passed inspection, anywhere that they might accidentally rub up against or touch Filo or Ziana.

I was relatively sure when it was Ziana who was touching me, for her fingers lingered a bit and might've applied a bit too much or too little pressure here or there. If I believed in God, I would've thanked him that Filo was at least efficient and quick as he removed anything on my body he didn't like, going over me with a fine toothed comb. Seemed like almost literally, but I didn't believe so. As I focused on the ceiling and thought of happier times, I wasn't too sure just what they were doing. I made myself pliable, and I was certainly being thrown around like a live mannequin.

Filo and Ziana struck up a conversation about hats…which I was thankful for. All of them working in near silence had just made this entire experience all the less tolerable. The woman with the glasses chuckled on occasion at something Ziana would say—almost always off color—but she looked normal at the very least. Her earrings were a bit flashy, but that was nothing compared to the ghouls they'd unleashed on me before. Eventually a fourth person came in, though briefly…just an vaguely darker skinned man who worked on my hands and nails. As to why the hell I needed to have nice fingernails, was beyond me. The woman with the glasses had been wetting down, then cutting and shampooing my hair, while someone…I think it was Filo, shaved my face, though I couldn't see how it needed it. Once the shaving was complete, they had slathered my skin in something that burned…but not like aftershave.

Perhaps I should have tried to talk to them, but it was clear by now that I hated every minute of this with the exception of perhaps the haircut, pedicure and manicure, but they surely knew this too. I could've asked some questions, but that would only have made it worse. Better _not_ to know just what was happening at all times.

By the time they were done my body looked and felt pink. Scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, cleaned, shiny and raw…everyone had finally left except for Ziana and Filo. Just my luck.

Ziana was busy removing various bins, catchers, a sink, and whatever else they'd been using to collect the unsightly and unwanted parts of my body they'd altered, cleaned, or removed, I still caught a simpering little smirk on her lips. I was certain that even Etcher, who'd never been bothered by fast or even skanky women, wouldn't have enjoyed that rope-haired woman's company after undergoing all she'd done to me.

"Next you'll be seeing Avella," Filo remarked, making sure we'd established eye contact. "She is your personal stylist for the Hunger Games. She's quite good, you know."

"Oh?" I managed to feign an interest. I wanted to scream out, demanding just what the fuck these people called themselves if not my 'stylists', but by now even I knew their regimen was all but over.

"Really, she was genius year before last." Ziana interjected. "Of course she had District Four that year…"

What the hell…I decided to ask. "She uh, decided Eight would be a better fit, huh?"

"Oh, no." Filo shook his head, his nose ring moving a little, which disturbed me. "Every year the Capitol assigns a stylist and prep team to a tribute. Requests can me made, but usually they fall on deaf ears."

Holy shit. These cretins were done grooming me, only to have some other weirdo chick dress me in some horrific ensemble? Now my mind flashed back to some of the awful get-ups I'd seen from Hunger Games in years past. Maybe I could appeal to someone. Let them allow me to wear the shirt, tie, and jacket that Roman had fixed me up with.

"Alright, well we've done all we can." Filo said, nodding to me once more. "Thanks for not complaining. Last year I got a male tribute too, and he wouldn't shut up."

My eyes flickered angrily to his, and I almost had to bite my tongue from spitting out some nasty comment. Who knew what sort of deviltry they had probably put him, whoever he was, through.

"Alright, cutie," Ziana said laughing as he hand cupped and smacked me on the front of my thigh, the sound echoing through the small but sterile room, "good luck, now. I'd hate to see you be out of the competition too soon."

"Come on." Filo ordered her, and then after she was gone, he turned back to me and gave me a perfunctory expression—somewhere between total malaise, and curiosity. "Isn't she a pill? Anyway, Avella will be along shortly. We'll be seeing you again just before the Games, but 'till then…I bid you adieu."

"…Bye." Was all I could manage. As soon as they were out of the room, I scrambled for the television remote which I luckily found on a table that had re-materialized, right within arms reach. I knew that if I sat in that near sterile room in total silence, waiting for this Avella monster to show, I'd feel like the victim of alien abduction. As it turned out, she didn't keep me waiting long at all. Perhaps five minutes at the most.

"Good afternoon, Mister Telfin." Came a smooth, silken voice that reminded me of how a spider might sound.

As I turned to see the source, however, I realized it would have to be a very pretty spider.

Dressed in a gold and brown ensemble, an overweight woman with slightly rosy cheeks, long eyelashes, pouty lips, and light green eyes that were vaguely reminiscent of Farah Gilderling's, was standing near my knees. Though I had been left nude, her eyes never left my own.

Her skin was nothing short of perfection, and had a nice healthy glow to it…no odd coloration. There was a whisper of some cleavage on her outfit, but I steeled my eyes against hers as I tried not to notice just how lovely she really was. Beautiful might've been a stretch for some people, but she was easily one of the prettiest people I had ever seen up close and in person. She smelled like either apples or pears, I couldn't quite decide, as well as something fresh and soft smelling. This was a complete one eighty from Ziana, whose memory made my skin crawl.

"I'm Avella, nice to meet me. I mean, _you_." She laughed simply, and Avella's laughter too was satiny and very easy to listen to. The fact that she was a bit heavy did absolutely nothing to detract from her beauty. Instead she seemed full and ripe, womanly and tender. I couldn't help myself from staring right at her for a couple of moments, smiling but forgetting to laugh.

"Sorry," she continued, "long day, I'm afraid and we're not even close to done. District Eight is always a bit of a challenge you know. Your guys' chief export is textiles, and that gives one a broad pallet to work with…and yet not. Loud, eccentric designs have been done to death. Haute couture doesn't exactly sound good to me, my fellow stylist's frame of mind, these games. I was thinking the simpler, the better. Now seeing you, I think I might onto something."

This made me feel very…well, naked at the moment and I couldn't help a bit of scarlet discoloration from creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. After being defiled by my prep team, I never would have guess my stylist, would have been so attractive, or instantly likable.

Avella seemed not to notice my blush, or she was gracious enough to pretend it hadn't happened. "How tall are you?"

Ok…maybe she wasn't _that_ great.

"I think I'm five foot seven. Not really sure, I—"

"Nevermind, it's alright. Just stand up for me if you would, and Jim here will measure you."

Jim? I almost leapt up and found myself looking wildly around, only to see a short, plain man with long hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing an eye patch like he were a damned pirate, give me a soft smile.

"He's 5'6" and one quarter, Avella." He said in a swishy, snappy voice that, lets face it, one might expect from a man who made a living from fashion.

Oooh…not even 5'6" and a half? Well, I guess that's me. Standing naked there before a very pretty stylist what I could only assume was her gay assistant…there was no where to run or hide. I hadn't been blessed with height. It was not as though I could do anything about it. If I could, I would.

"If you'll get his measurements, please." Avella said, picking up some sort of computerized clipboard where her fingers flew over what I could only assume was the screen, as Jim got a bit intimate with me. Even then I couldn't manage to get too offended, he was just doing his job. He didn't make my skin wriggle and crawl like Filo and Ziana. The entire process didn't take long, and before long it was back to just Avella and I.

"Alright Herod, you can cover up if you'd like," she said offhandedly, handing me a large, soft towel that too had seemed to materialize out of thin air. "Can't be much fun to have so many people see you in your birthday suit, but it's our job, I'm afraid." Her eyes had returned to her 'clipboard' as she plunked out some more information.

Throwing the towel around my waist, I slid back onto the reclining chair I'd been in for what seemed like hours. "Funny you should say that, today actually is my birthday."

"_Really?_" Avella smiled, her eyes meeting mine as she smiled and then laughed a little, looking back to her screen. "Seventeen years old. Well, Happy Birthday Herod. I promise I'll try not to embarrass you too badly on your birthday, ok?"

"Thank you." I appreciated that, because she was the first person I'd met in the Capitol who really seemed to treat me with any dignity.

"I believe I'm all done here. We'll have the costume you'll be wearing out to you just as soon as possible for a fitting. Tonight is the opening ceremonies, you know. That's a nice birthday present, I'd say. Better than it being on the day of the Games, or something like that." Avella said. "Oh, forgive me, I don't mean anything by that."

"No, its ok. You're right. I've thought of that myself, so you're not telling me anything I haven't already thought of." Well, it was true after all. My stylist was so utterly refreshing, I figured she had to have some sort of morbid flaw. She really was a dude, or she ate people faces—some junk like that. "You're not a fan of the Hunger Games?"

I could see some conflict on Avella's lovely feminine features but she won out with a half smile. "No, of course I love them. I'm just not much of a fan for um, violence I guess you could say."

She was making me feel bold. "Aaaannnddd…that qualifies you for liking them, _how_?"

More generous laughter as she backed away and then turned toward the exit. "I'll be seeing you soon enough. There's clothes over there if you'd like. Happy birthday, Herod."

My stylist was gone before I could thank her again, or make her laugh. It suddenly dawned on me how wrong and unprofessional it was of _me_, to be attracted to my much older personal stylist. Well…maybe she wasn't _much_ older. She was older, no doubt.

That made three people that I seemed to like. First Jarvis, then Roman, and now Avella. Surely not all of them could be what they appeared. Roman was the most important to my sanity, and well-being, so I hoped that the other shoe was not about to drop with him and I'd discover he was something else entirely. Right now it was counterproductive to try and figure out who was, or was not real. It was still my birthday, and I had the opening ceremonies to attend. Even if Roman wasn't around to remind me, these ceremonies were going to be the first look that Panem and all of my prospective sponsors were going to have. I needed to look good, but I had no control over that. I needed to decide just how I was going to try and show myself to my fellow tributes. Time was of the essence.

* * *

><p>At first I had been completely skeptical of Avella's designs, and Farah had gone so far as to say that her stylist, whoever it was, should've vetoed the idea.<p>

Both she an I were wearing stark white clothing, but there wasn't a lot of it. We looked ridiculous really, but I had seen worse creations in the Opening Ceremonies.

With the exception of a diagonal swath on my face, starting on the lower right side and arcing up to the left, my entire body had been covered in a blackish paint. It had some texture to it and as it'd been blown onto me by some kind of machine, it felt more like housing insulation or something. Not my face…the blackish stuff had been blown via some sort of large straw-looking device, by Avella herself.

At first the composite felt sticky and clingy, but after a few moments it dried and it felt as though nothing was there. I noticed that the ring around the middle finger on my right hand, my 'tribute token' as they called it, had been removed and then replaced after my paint bath. Avella seemed to be cognizant that it ought not be covered over.

I figured if I was going to be naked, better to have my skin mostly covered by this stuff. But if that were the case, they wouldn't have had much need for a stylist, or my measurements.

I wore a fedora of sorts, but it was floppy and a little loser-fitting on my head. I wore a tie, and a open sleeved vest, which had tails attached to it which fell down around the backs of my knees. I wore white loose fitting pants with some sort of black belt-like accessories. I didn't much bother to look down at them. My shoes were had thicker heels and made me stand a couple inches taller, which I appreciated, but if I had worn this outfit anywhere by the opening games I would've surely gotten beaten up. It made me feel a bit like a dancer in some sort of quasi-sexual pop stars music video of the past.

Farah matched my body paint, except that she wore a lovely white gown, gathered at the shoulders with an open back, that gave me the vague impression of being somewhat like a toga. The material hung on her body, the places where it was gathered and then where it hung in loose waves like at the small of her back, or near her shoulders, looked cleanly elegant. There was a massive slit up her right leg, revealing lots of skin…but again, it was all covered in black except for a more horizontal slash of real skin color showing across Farah's face. Her hair had been reconfigured so that while she still had some bangs, it was gathered more in the back. It looked far more attractive than her regular hairstyle, though if she asked I wasn't going to tell her so.

As we were getting loaded into our horse drawn carriage, I could see that some of the light that fell across our bodies made it turn very gray, and the effect was bizarre indeed. I didn't have much time to linger on such thoughts, as one of our horses whinnied and wanted to rear up. It needed a handler to set it right, but I was impressed that none of the other horses seemed effected by this in the slightest.

We could hear all the music and the screams of the crowd crammed into the City Circle of some of our earlier competitors whose districts came numerically before our own.

"We look like idiots." Farah murmured on the carriage platform, which was essentially just an open conveyance with a solid bar in front for us to hang onto.

"No," I had to almost yell, "_I _look like an idiot. You look good." Perhaps Avella was nice and all of that, but by the looks of it, her artistic vision had been fed with more care and forethought by Farah's stylist. I looked cheesy and stupid. I contemplated tossing off my hat and tie, but we were warned that damaging or altering our stylist's designs was expressly prohibited. Easy for them to say…they weren't the ones who looked like morons.

Our carriage was next, the horses anxious and excited too…I noticed it seemed that they knew full well that they were on display here too and looking forward to strutting their stuff. Farah had laughed at me and said something, but I wasn't able to hear her over the roar of the crowd at District Seven. From what I'd seen earlier they were supposed to look like trees in a forest. Their chariot had plenty of coverage…ours, none at all. Lucky bastards.

I saw her teeth spring up from behind all her black makeup so it was bizarre to see, but made me chuckle. "Happy birthday!" she'd almost squealed in a girlish way that I figured would have never come out of Farah.

Hearing that, I couldn't help myself from looking surprised but I was actually laughing as we rolled out into the City Circle, our horses pulling our chariot lightly and effortlessly. All the music, the people screaming, the flash of cameras. It crawled into my bloodstream and hummed, the resonance impossible to stay still for. I decided to wave to the damned crowd. Why? Because I felt jumpy and excited all of a sudden as though I'd gotten a shot of adrenaline. Farah mirrored me, though she did so delicately as if she were finalist in a beauty contest.

From the corner of my eye I saw on the massive television screen looming over a portion of the City Circle, the tributes from District Six were being shown, both looking sharp and elegant in all black. The guy looked smart in his design, and the girl was glittering from all the black sequins, or whatever they were, that caught and volleyed light back in a myriad of directions.

Smiling like an idiot, although I didn't quite know why, we had stopped waving but instead allowed ourselves to be paraded around the circle to thunderous applause by the audience. What was so incredible about us? Surely they were clapping and cheering for Farah. We looked like some sort of messed up modern art instillation, but with her gown she managed to still be interesting. I felt positively dizzy by the time we'd passed the presidential residence.

It wasn't until all twelve chariots had come to a stand still, and we were being addressed by our nations leader, that I could see ourselves being shown on the massive television screen. When lights shown on us, parts of our skin all but vanished. The contrast of our clothing stood out, like we were under a black light almost. Better yet, it looked like our white raiment's were being held up magically, as if displayed on invisible mannequins. To make it more bizarre, the odd shapes of our faces that weren't covered in the dull black lacquer seemed to be floating above our bodies. I didn't see how that could have compared to some of the over the top displays from other districts, but the crowd had seemed to like us well-enough. After all, Avella had showcased Eight's chief export.

Although the City Circle was nearly silent, that many people crammed into one place can't ever achieve true silence. While the president dictated his speech to all of us, I heard Farah spitting out impassioned and enflamed words. Through my teeth as I smiled, Roman making me aware that the cameras might be on me at any moment, I told her, "Shut up, someone might hear you…"

Farah gave me a look that could've rusted metal, but she closed her lips, cleared her throat—perhaps swallowing back all her hatred for the Capitol in the time being—and forced a smile on her face as she pretended to listen diligently.

When the president's speech had concluded, the citizens of the Capitol went nuts again, screaming and shouting to us and all our fellow competitors. I probably should've been paying more attention to who the crowd liked more than others, but I couldn't manage it. Even if this was all to build us up before we tore each other down, it was fun while it lasted. I thought that _I _would be the sour puss, and all of Farah's distemper was bluster. Obviously I had underestimated her.

Even if she was a nice enough girl to me, that didn't mean that she was going to quit hating the Capitol. I didn't like them myself, but even as our chariot wound around the City Circle one last time, I looked over to Farah. She despised all of this with every fiber of her being. My dislike or even hate didn't hold a candle to her detestation and abject loathing of our Panem's Capitol and its inhabitants.

By the time our chariot had pulled back from it's starting point near the Training Center, I felt a bit worn out. Farah looked over at me, and I returned her gaze. "Well, that was interesting." I said. I knew I couldn't very well say fun or exhilarating, or she just might decide to dislike me after all. It's easy to make a friend when you're the only two on the train. Soon enough we'd be meeting all our competitors. I was expecting her to glower at me, or perhaps toss me an admonishing expression, but instead she gave me a simple smile.

"I'm glad you had fun on your birthday, Herod. I'm sure you made your family and girlfriend proud."

Why did she think I had a girlfriend, and why of all times would she say such a thing? I'd had a couple of semi serious girlfriends back home, but of the two I'd classify as real 'girlfriends', neither relationship had lasted very long. Add a couple more young women to that list, and you held my entire dating history. I was no super-naïve innocent, but I was not well seasoned in relationships. I may have only been in love once. If I really thought of it, I'd have to put pretty serious emphasis on the 'may'.

All I ended up getting out was, "You too Farah. You look incredible. Really, you do."

Now she laughed, parting that big mouth of her and showing me quite a few of her teeth as she shook her head. I had not seen Farah Gilderling laugh quite like that before. Hopefully it was because she knew I was telling the truth; not the type to go in for flattery.

We were escorted from our chariots by some rather severe-looking Capitol officials. I saw one of them have a holster with a handgun inside, but they weren't dressed nor did they have the demeanor of Peacekeepers. They lead us through a covered breezeway, more or less alongside all of our fellow tributes. I get a semi-decent look at the delegation from…well, I wasn't quite sure which district. They were dressed very plainly, the young man dressed in a simple shirt, suspenders, and what I believed was a cap. The girl stepped down from the chariot wearing simple but nice shoes, and what looked like a sundress or something similar. She had a wide thatch looking hat, and when she whipped around and headed over to some woman in stiletto heels, a form fitting but not ostentatious dress, a mass of hair, and a oversized hat with a bit of its attached netting drawn back and resting in her bird's nest of a hairdo.

"Are you coming?" Farah's voice drew my attention back, giving a small flick of her hand to usher me along after her. I could see Jarvis Wellund standing there, tall and now a bit gangly-looking as he chit chatted with some electric blue skinned woman. I wanted to get a better look at her, as her skin was so loud and shocking, it was pretty, clashing terribly with he carrot orange hair…but she'd turned and began walking in another direction once Jarvis received us.

"You guys did terrific. I saw your nice big smiles, that'll play well." He nodded first to me and then to Farah. "Now if you'll follow me, I'll be showing you two to where you'll be staying for the next couple of days." Farah was walking rather well in those heels given to her, made me wonder if she might've played a lot of dress up as a little girl. Seemed reasonable given how much she enjoyed fashion. Kind of a shame she detested the Capitol so tremendously…for there was little need for a fashion sense too many places outside of it.

As I followed Farah and Jarvis into what seemed to be a wall of lights, I caught a glimpse of some girl with her arms crossed before her chest, apparently waiting for someone. Her dress was a myriad of lights, so much so that it almost hurt to look at her, but our eyes briefly met. She couldn't have been my age, there was just no way. I'd say she would be lucky to be thirteen. Her eyes followed me, but eventually I had to break the link as I was about to run into some more Capitol people. They all looked like colorful, beaded, sequined, dyed, tattooed tropical fish to me. You could spot them a mile away, most of them.

"Everything alright Herod?" Jarvis lightly implied as I caught up, Farah standing next to him just inside the lobby of what must've been the Training Center.

"Oh, yeah. Everything's fine!" I urged cheerily. I couldn't be certain if he was merely interested or admonishing me. Regardless we were moving again and I tried hard not to gape at the opulence that was filtering into my vision slowly like the colors of an old Polaroid picture.

This place looked more like an extremely fancy hotel, than some…Training Center. That name evoked something more sterile, utilitarian and gymnasium-like in my mind. Not so. My feet pressed into extremely plush carpet, I glanced up at a tinkling chandelier overhead as I managed to follow Jarvis and Farah.

It wasn't until we were all three in a crystal-walled elevator which had spectacular views of the city all light up like fireflies in the night, or the magnificent courtyards nearby, that I realized just how silly I must've looked. Almost all of my body painted blackish gray, wearing an odd assortment of clothing. Jarvis's proportions might have been a little peculiar, but he was dressed very understated given that we were in the Capitol. Farah looked bizarre, sure, but at least her ensemble did something to evoke a mystery and beauty about her. I was the one who truly did look a fool.

"Which floor?" Farah asked, a slight smile on her lips as she watched me look out the window. What, she was unimpressed by all of this! If she was from the east prefecture, there was no way she could've seen anything like this in her life. Or was there? Was Farah just willing to overlook these sights around us because she despised the Capitol so much, or was it because she was unimpressed?

"Eight." Jarvis said with a bit of a smile. "That's easy to remember, right guys? Every tribute is assigned a floor in this tower corresponding to their own district's number. Tonight you'll be having dinner with your mentors. You can dine together as a group, if you wish, but that'll be in about an hour. Your rooms are fully stocked with food, drinks, any amenity you can imagine. You'll be able to call on whatever you'd like to wear. Also, and I'm probably not supposed to tell you this, there are no cameras in your private quarters so please feel as though you've got your privacy there, because indeed you do. The Hunger Games won't be for a couple of days as we've discussed earlier."

As Jarvis talked, Farah and I exchanged the briefest of glances but then I chose to glance back out the window as my escort continued on. The Capitol was like a glittering multi-faceted jewel hanging in the night as we sped ever upward. I felt myself growing lighter too, though that may have been because the elevator was coming to a halt.

The doors slid open, and Jarvis stepped out, saying, "Tomorrow you'll have to report for basic training and assessment in Facility room B3-A. The lower levels can be accessed easily as any other floor, and I'll be reminding you of all this tomorrow anyway. You're slated to have your private sessions with the Gamekeepers soon enough, but lets not get ahead of ourselves." He half apologized, seeing the looks on our faces, Jarvis must've realized he was the only one getting ahead of _anything_. "Herod, your quarters are right down that way," motioning to where there was a oak door with golden accents that gleamed in the hallways subtle lighting. "Farah, if you'll just follow me, you're this way."

"See you later." I said quickly, and I heard Farah echo my sentiments. I was glad now to be rid of Jarvis and happy to approach my own door. I didn't see any armed Peacekeepers present, but surely I was being watched somewhere, by someone. After all Jarvis had said our _quarters_ didn't have cameras in them. That may have well been a lie, but either way it led me to believe as I turned the knob and opened the door, I was vanishing out of sight of some camera in some high tech air-conditioned room.

I was overwhelmed at my luxurious surroundings once more. I wildly kicked off my shoes and rolled off my socks. My feet were white, sticking out from where the black paint had stopped, around my ankles. My toes leeched hungrily into the thick carpeting, it made me want to sit down and roll around on it. No, there were better things in store. I could see that, as I passed through the anteroom, nicely appointed with a central table and a vase of welcoming flowers, one of which I recognized as a kind that grew prevalently not far from my own northern prefecture in District Eight.

My quarters were magnificent and easily two or three times the size of my family's entire apartment back home. There was some cute, sprightly young woman with a bob haircut and rosy cheeks who'd showed me some of the crazier and therefore awesome features of my super computerized hotel room of the future. Once she'd politely dismissed herself, I finally sank into a warm, buttery leather chair which sat next to a love seat sofa. The views of the Capitol were begging me to stand up again and have a look-see, but once my body rolled back into that chair, and upon reclining, an ottoman slid up to support my bare feet from some unseen panel, I let out a long, languid groan of satisfaction.

It smelled great in here, and while the girl had told me I need only speak a kind of food to a certain machine and it would be there for the taking moments later, I didn't even feel hungry. I wanted to twist and roll, and knead myself down into the chair for 10 minutes, and I could've easily. What stopped me was the fact that Jarvis told me I was to have dinner with Roman, and possibly Cecelia and Farah in about an hour.

My quarters were lit perfectly. No stark overhead lighting, but all lamps either on the floor, or on coffee or bedside tables that kept a few shadows in the room, but not deep ones. Luxury. Comfort. You can't beat that shit, not if you tried for a million years. When I finally, regrettably urged my body up from the leather chair I was surprised to see that none of that charcoal-colored stuff over 90% of my body had rubbed off. Oh yes, I needed to take a shower, get cleaned up, and pick out something suitable for dinner. It was still my birthday, and for the first real time today, I felt as though I was getting a present.

* * *

><p>As I walked down the hallway, away from the all-purpose room on the eighth floor which did not belong to my or Farah's quarters, I was stuffed. Dinner was delicious, and I had been spoiled this time with my most favorite kind of cake. I hadn't had room, but I'd stuffed it in anyway, and felt as though I was going to burst. Roman and Cecelia had kept any talk of the Games themselves to a real minimum. They'd asked how we were liking the Capitol so far, and while Farah had been quiet on the subject, I'd admitted just how impressed I was.<p>

Anyone could get used to this sort of life. My shower, my closet, everything about my hotel room was push button and a marvel of technology. We didn't get to see shit anywhere near that cool in District Eight. We might've been a mere sight better than the people in Ten, Eleven, or Twelve…maybe Nine, but it was incomparable. Tonight's dinner was beyond delicious…it was easily the most scrumptious things I'd ever tasted in my entire life.

As I was passing back toward my own room and the elevator bank, I briefly thought about visiting other floors. Maybe I ought to select some random floor, and start making friends? Surely that was allowed, wasn't it? Alliance making didn't sound very appealing to me, well-fed and ready to retire to my plush sleeping quarters, however.

"Herod. Hey Herod, wait up." Came a familiar voice. I knew Farah's well-enough now to recognize it without even needing to turn my head.

She was still wearing the light and airy ensemble from earlier. Even if it was all in shades of black and dark gray, she looked nice. This new haircut of hers was a more toned down and modified version of the one she'd given herself. It allowed you to see her well-shaped cheeks and mouth, her eyes, and almost what I might call a button nose. Even if she was eighteen, she could've passed for fifteen or sixteen I thought, without any trouble. Her hair cut and color, and the palette she chose to garb herself in, warned onlookers of the heavy chip on her shoulder and the sharp edges of the prism which through she seemed to view the world.

"Do you want to talk or anything?" she offered, looking as though she couldn't care less about my answer. That was the very reason I knew she wanted to rather badly.

"Yeah, sure. C'mon."

Soon enough we were back in my quarters, and I'd once again, kicked off my shoes and seeing the expansive, wondrously massive bed just waiting for me calling my name, collapsed onto it like a ton of bricks. The mattress was heavenly, and I just kept my face down in the comforter and sheets for a few long moments, exhaling slowly.

"Didn't get on your bed before, huh?" Farah asked, walking over to the food delivery system with ease and ordered something, I couldn't hear what.

"Nuh uh." I managed, still not getting up, but I'd shifted my weight so that I could see her, even at my odd angle. "Your room the same?"

"Pretty much. Color scheme is a little different…and everything's reversed. Like my bathroom is over there," she used her hand to indicate, "and stuff. Wow, you're so practical. First thing I did was jump on my bed."

"Yeah well, maybe you're lazier than me." I teased, feeling much more like myself than I had since a couple of days ago, really.

"Wouldn't doubt that." Farah seemed to be sucking on some black licorice.

"Is there anything you like that _isn't_ black, gray, sour, dark, bitter, or murky?" I laughed, seeing her candy.

While at first her cat-yellow eyes widened in a look of shock, she exploded in peals of laughter, throwing her weight back into my swiveling desk chair. Apparently having removed her shoes, she threw her feet up onto the desk and crossed them, looking around but we were both still laughing at my well-timed jab at her proclivities. Usually I was not able to say something so easily as that, but maybe tonight being my birthday, I'd got a little of my mojo working.

"Shut up…" she'd half-assed said to me, though her laughter was slowing. More upbeat sound had come out of her in the last few moments than I'd ever heard before.

I had rolled up into a cross-legged position where I relieved myself of my socks, and opened the first three buttons down from my shirt. Being around Roman and having him as a mentor, had obviously made me feel like I might be a pig if I were to have come to dinner in a pair of exercise pants and a sweatshirt, or something.

"I _do_ like rainbows." Farah came out with, grinning a bit stupidly over at me, but she shrugged her shoulders. "I know, right? That's like the happiest thing anyone can think of, but I do! There's so cool. Plus I like the rain, and after that is when they come out."

After my chuckles had subsided, I just shook my head. "Watch out, you're losing your mystique."

Both of us laughed again, yes at her expense, but it was pretty obvious that Farah was either a terrific actress, or she really did consider me an ally. "Well at least I've got some to begin with. You're about as interesting as toast. You'd better play up the 'nice guy' angle, or you're not going to get any sponsors."

"What, you don't think I'm a nice guy?" I teased, finding it odd to be having a conversation with Farah that under normal circumstances might've almost been on the cusp of flirting.

"No, you are. But not _too _nice. It's why I can stand you."

"Farah you had better drop that girl-in-black routine, unless you're deadlier than I think. Careers can get away with that kind of shit, but you'd better post a good score with the Gamemakers or everyone will think it's just your look."

"Well, what can _you_ do? I'm good with a slingshot."

My mouth was open, about to answer her when I'd chuckled a bit more. "A slingshot? Oh gee, that'll have those Careers pissing their pants, I'm sure."

"Oh shut up you asshole!" Farah laughed louder than ever before, tossing a nearby box of facial tissues over at me, which had come to rest on it's side on my bed. "It's a game my brother, sister and I have played for a long time. I am really beyond decent with a slingshot you unsupportive oaf!"

Now I had to laugh again. It figured that Farah would've had an insulting, teasing sense of humor. I was very much accustomed to it, with Etch being my best friend. "Alright alright." I acknowledged. "I can shoot a gun pretty well. And I am fair with a bow and arrow." Although we were having a good time, somewhere the back of my mind told me to omit the fact that I was even better with throwing a knife for the time being. Farah seemed genuine, and I wanted to trust her wholly, but wouldn't this have been an excellent way to try and find out all my strengths or weaknesses?

"I'm good with my hands," Farah added, "needles, thread…I can weave, and I know how to use ropes fairly well."

"We'll win, don't worry." I said in a coy manner, but some small part of me tried to cling to the hope that it was actually going to come to fruition. It was still my birthday damn it, and dreams come true…at least for the very rich.

"When you put it like that, I don't know why I was worried."

Our eyes met each other's and a bit of silence crept into the room. It wasn't uncomfortable in of itself, but it was a little off-putting just because we were now behaving as though we were true friends and allies. That was different from just being copasetic and friendly. I wondered how our relationship would change once we met all our fellow tributes and for some funny reason I got that Farah was wondering the same thing.

"Final two. I don't fuck you, you don't fuck me." She said solemnly, throwing her legs down to the ground and looking at me with such intensity that it almost hurt to look at.

With a odd, twitchy feeling uncoiling itself and wriggling down my arms and legs, I nodded. "Deal."

She seemed to believe me, and that was good because I'd truly meant it. I hoped I wouldn't ruin the whole thing by adding, "It's about time we win. Seventeen years."

"Yeah, since Cecelia won. She's a nice lady. I can't believe she won, really. I mean she played so smart, but even still…she doesn't carry herself like most victors do."

"Probably her kids." I reasoned. "She's got like twelve kids or whatever. You can't be all moping around and sad sacked when you've got ten—"

"She's got four."

"Ok fine, four kids."

"I…" Farah began and then continued, "I mean Roman seems like a victor. Cecelia was telling me that he invested his money very wisely, so that makes him unique but…you know?"

"Yeah, I do." In truth, I knew exactly what she was saying. Even through his well-dressed guise, he was a sharpshooter and a businessman. "I'm glad I'm with him though, and it's cool that you picked Cecelia."

Farah told me, "I almost went with Arlisa."

"Cause she's old, and it'd cause a stir?"

She blinked, analyzing that question as fairly as she could, it would seem. "Honest?" A chuckle issued past her lips. "Yeah, probably."

I smiled at her, and found her returning it.

"Want some licorice?"

"No way, that stuff is terrible. Cecelia didn't kill that many people in her games. I guess she's just sweet."

"Hmmm…" Farah had now scooted her chair over, and thrown her feet up on the bed. "I guess I'd call her sweet…that might not be the right word for it. I guess people just are who they are."  
>Although I debated over it, I said exactly what I was thinking. "You're not some droll badass though. You're very smart, and you're funny."<p>

She didn't address my compliments, instead asking if I wanted anything to eat. I definitely could not, I was totally stuffed from dinner. Part of me wanted to ask why she might've thought I had a girlfriend, but now I was nervous as to what her answer may be. It was further unnerving because I knew I ought not be thinking about something as trivial as that. We needed to stick to making each other laugh and relax, or talk strategy about the Games.

"I think I'm so tired, that I have stopped even trying to want sleep." Farah told me.

"Really? I'm wide awake. But you know, now that you mention—" a yawn passed my lips, and then I found it difficult to find reason to actually end the statement I'd been heading toward. "It's my birthday. And today is the last fucking day I have, until I really have to concentrate, and figure shit out."

"Lucky you, then. Better than tomorrow. You got your birthday on the last cool day."

Allowing her words to sink in, I almost wanted to kiss her that sounded so appropriate and to the point. Not a real kiss, but like one a friend might give another friend. Right? Right. At least I wasn't going to let any other thoughts enter my head at that time, so I stuck with it. "Yeah, the last cool day."

"They really need to give us sleep aids. I mean seriously! How the fuck are we supposed to go to sleep, knowing tomorrow we're probably going to meet whoever it is who'll kill us. Mmm, sounds like the kind of stuff I'd _love_ to have rolling around in my mind when I'm trying to sleep. Damn Capitol."

She was right of course, but the way she'd tacked on the part about the Capitol made me laugh and soon enough she'd joined in too. "Hey maybe the Careers will be a bunch of pussies this year, and we'll cruise to the finals."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Yeah." I nodded although the reality of that statement not being anywhere in the ballpark of truth, was definitely sobering. I'd not meant that to happen, but I could tell by the way Farah dropped her eyes and chewed busily on her licorice, her thoughts were exactly where mine were.

Farah looked back at me and spoke softly. "It's like every new thing that happens, is just leading up to where there'll be no more _things_."

I knew precisely what she meant, and in that moment I was almost certain that I couldn't sell Farah out, throw her under the bus, lie to her, or arrange her death without getting her blood on my hands. "We've still got a few days left. If we spend them all worrying about what's coming, then it might as well be today."

"I know." She said in a mature manner, and smiled like she knew every last thought in my head. "Sorry, it's your birthday. Wasn't trying to be depressing. Although hey, it's part of my mystique, right?"

She may have been eighteen and I had just turned seventeen, but essentially we were the same age. From the same district, in the same boat. Though if I had met her back home with Etch and Tena, I probably would've completely ignored Farah, fate had dealt me a different hand. Etcher wouldn't have much liked her. It was a mystery as to how he even managed to be my friend. He had little tolerance for those who viewed the glass as half empty. I was just a special case is all. Tena would've liked her, if she would give Farah enough time to make a good impression. Tena had tons of positives, but one was that she formed her opinions early, and was very rigid on them. I wasn't entirely sure, but those same attributes could've been applied to Farah. They would make terrific friends…but they would get in the other's way long before they'd get to the happy, easy-going stage.

"Well, don't go falling in love with some bimbo tribute." Farah admonished from her chair, looking a bit tired.

"Why, you laying claims?"

"Shut up you moron." She spat at me with such viscosity that had I not believed I knew her as well as I did, I would've wondered if she was entirely serious. "No, I just don't need you trying to find some new ally who can twist you all around her finger, and end up getting us both killed."

"How dumb do you think I am?"

"It's your birthday, so I won't answer that." She grinned over at me. "I know you aren't stupid. But there are a couple of really pretty girls we're in here with. Beautiful even. You're a guy, and I know guys well-enough that regardless of what you're thinking going in…girls who look like that, can make you do really stupid shit."

I couldn't help thinking: whatever! As if these so called beautiful girls were going to try an ensnare me, anyway. "If that was their strategy, first of all, it's transparent as hell. Secondly, I think they'd go after some guy who was big and strong and could protect them for days in the arena. I saw this little girl, her dress tonight was a bunch of lights? Dunno what district she's from, but she looked like she was about ten."  
>Farah shrugged, "Didn't see her. But whoever she is, watch her win."<p>

"Oh yes, such a vote of confidence you have in us!"

She smiled, her eyes lingering on mine a moment before she went and polished off the remainder of her licorice. "Yeah, us. We're a team. A good one too, I can feel it. Do you think we should try and not talk to each other down there tomorrow? If no one thinks we're allies, we might be able to find out more information."

"Good thinking." I said. "Though if we ignore one another totally, we'd better come up with some excuse why we hate each other. And that might get tricky. I've learned the best kinds of lies, are uncomplicated ones."

"Technically this is lying by omission."

"Unless someone asks us flat out if we're a team. Then it becomes real lying."

Farah laughed freely at that, which made me feel good. At first I couldn't have imagined what I would have in common with this girl, but now I could see that wasn't true. I hadn't seen these beautiful tributes tonight. I could not help but wonder if I had been too wrapped up in the opening ceremonies and the Capitol. Maybe my enemies had already formed opinions about me, and were plotting to take me down. Maybe I should've went to some random floor and tried to make an ally.

"What?" she asked. When I didn't answer she added, "You get this look on your face when you're thinking way too hard."

"Nothing good."

"Well cut that shit out."

I smiled for her benefit, but inwardly was thinking that Farah was easy to get along with, but that may have been because we were alike in some ways. Tena had told me not to over think everything. That was difficult enough a lot of the time, but with Farah, it was doubly-so. She was a planner and a strategizer too. I thought of that girl with the lit-up dress. She was probably sound asleep right now, well fed and dead to the world. An ally was an ally, but something told me that the girl in the lighted dress wasn't going to be an unstoppable force of nature in the arena. I needed to try and find more strong allies, first. It was just the order of things. If I couldn't make any friends with the tributes who seemed strong, then I'd settle for whoever I could find. If nothing else, being allies with a weak girl like that…I could probably outrun her. I didn't have to be fast as all my opponents. I just had to be faster than whoever I was with. What an awful thought…really, it made me almost wince, especially now that Farah and I would be working together.

"I thought I told you to cut that shit out!" she yelled.

"Oh, sorry. You're right, you're right." It was not good that she already knew my 'thinking' face, or even that I had one at all. Deception was often such a key element in winning the Hunger Games.

Farah was saying, "I should go. We need our sleep. I'm really glad that I met you Herod, even if it's under such shitty circumstances. You're a nice guy."

She was rising up from her seat, and coming over toward me. Some panic bubbled in my throat, as I threw a smile over and up at her, just uncertain of what she might've had in store for me, here.

"So, good night." She said and our eyes met before she leaned down, and without me having a chance of stopping her, had pressed her lips to my cheek. "Happy birthday, Herod."

Although her lips did not linger, they were soft and the kiss she'd left me with had me feeling incredibly light headed and peculiar. This didn't mean I was in love with the girl, lets not go nuts, but as she'd departed my quarters and I watched the door close after her, I wondered just why that part of my cheek was stinging a bit. Yesterday she'd seemed like she would've hated me, and today we were going to be allies in the Hunger Games, and she'd kissed me on the cheek! Was this what Etch had meant about me being myself? I mean sure, Farah was…well, I wasn't entirely sure _what_ she was.

Farah was a piece of home. She was an ally, and was quickly becoming a friend. Why had she kissed me on the cheek, though? It just seemed so out of character for her. Even if she had softened up to me, I saw her interactions with other people. She enjoyed fashion and hairstyling…which was incredible girly. Yet she talked, acted, and often behaved more like a guy or a butch girl might.

It was much easier to still think of her as the weirdo girl with the low hanging bangs, all black, dark, and twisted. With her newer haircut however, and our growing friendship, it was becoming increasingly hard to view Farah as the archetype she'd set up for everyone to use on her. She played some kind of slingshot game with her little sister and brother. Her brother who was more or less deaf. I could not be certain, but all logic told me that the Gilderling family was not as well off financially as my own. She never spoke of her father…was he dead? Maybe he just ran out on Farah and the rest of her family. Surely if the sponsors were privy to all this information, they'd throw their support behind her, and throw me to the Careers.

My life was anything but easy back home, but again I fell into the category of what might be called middle class in other places. Really my family was lower middle class, at best…but given the poverty line in District Eight, on a sliding scale…I suppose we were middle class. My job wasn't back breaking. My father had been a Peacekeeper, and we lived in a decent tenement. I was even from the north prefecture, which I'd long been told by visitors was probably the nicest of the three prefectures belonging to our district. I had a mother, a sister, a father…all who loved me very much. Even if I didn't necessarily deserve to die, I'd experienced enough good things for 10 kids. Farah was the person who deserved to live through this thing.

These thoughts swirled and eddied long and hard through my mind as I remain on my plush bedding. If fair really was _fair_, then I ought to die in these Hunger Games.

I didn't want to die, though…I couldn't, I wouldn't. Even if Farah had things tougher than I did, did that mean I was any less deserving? If I managed to bite and claw my way through to the end of the Hunger Games, then surely I ought to be the victor. I had promised Farah that we were allies. I don't fuck you, you don't fuck me. Fine. I would not knowingly let her die. I wouldn't kill her myself unless I absolutely had to. There were going to be plenty of other people all too willing to kill the both of us, anyway.

Suddenly I was missing my family and friends back home quite a lot. Today was my birthday and I hadn't been able to speak to any of them. Farah was being as good of a friend as she could manage, I knew that in my heart. So I needed to quit dwelling on these unpleasant thoughts attached to the Games.

Thanks to my handy push button apartment, all the lights were dimmed, and many were turned off in a matter of seconds. As I climbed under my covers, the softness of the pillow cradled me and as I exhaled, I felt so very tired. Today was not even exhausting…today wasn't even something to get worked up about. As I felt myself dozing off before I even realized what was happening.

Nothing to be done for now, except sleep. No messy details to ponder over, no fears or worries or concerns. It might've already been tomorrow. My eyes felt too good shut, to bother opening them and check the projection from my alarm clock as to what time it might be.

We might not be killing one another just yet, but tomorrow was when the _real_ games began.


	4. A Coalition

Breakfast might've been like the Hunger Games itself, given that all 24 of us tributes were unleashed into one gigantic cafeteria, with enough tables that no one would've had to sit together, if they didn't want to. Given that there was forks, knives, and other such implements which could cause death, about a dozen Peacekeepers lined the room at certain intervals. I couldn't help but think…if they were that concerned with a fight or worse breaking out, why did they release all of us in here at once?

The social fish bowl that we'd all become consisted three main groups.

One was a table seven individuals, by the looks on their faces, whether they be superior, menacing, sneaky, or self-assured, it was all too clear that _they_ were the Careers, hear them roar.

There were four girls, and three of them were good looking…one or maybe two even might've qualified as beautiful. If these girls were the ones Farah was concerned about me aligning myself with, I figured what's the damn point? The remaining girl, who I'm sure was taller than me and close to six foot if she wasn't already, was a brute of a girl, with a mean-looking face. She wasn't disgustingly muscular, or anything like that, but she, and one of the apish men she shared a table with, looked capable of murder at any given moment.

An attractive black girl with short hair had a steeled, untrustworthy look about her as she ate with focus, but laughed as a particularly rat like, crass-looking kid with blondish-brown hair was cracking some kind of joke. They both looked equally lethal, just not in such an immediate and overpowering way. Seated next to the pretty black gal, was yet another good looking girl, not quite as beautiful as the strawberry blonde who I was relatively sure looked in my direction, but who laughed like the cameras were always on her. This dark haired, dark eyed, olive skinned girl seemed to ooze sex and lascivious thoughts. Her female companions seemed tricky, distant, or near bestial, respectively.

Rounding out the Careers was a tall, athletic looking guy with longer hair, sitting near the perimeter of the rest, but looking highly capable. I noticed, though I was trying not to look their way and risk having one catch me, that the longer haired fellow never laughed. Not a chuckle, not a crack of a smile—nothing. He, along with the guy who seemed to be the class clown, or the tower of muscle who'd laughed the loudest, all looked formidable. It was not rocket science what they were doing here. They were letting the rest of us know just who they were, and challenging us to try and stop them.

The worst of it was…Career tributes won the Hunger Games just as often as non-Careers. The odds were already in their favor, the deck already stacked. Traditionally, Districts One, Two, and Four all fell into this category. If they were true to form, that would account for six people. Still, there was a seventh…an extra girl, at the very least.

Some nervous-looking long faced kid who was extremely unfortunate looking, took his breakfast at an adjoining table. He had bigger balls than the rest of us, as everyone else was giving the Careers a wide berth. At least three empty tables separated their clique from anyone else, save that long faced guy.

The second group would've been the one that Farah and I fell into. We sat at the same table, and were from the same district. We conversed, albeit slowly and softly, no one wanting to say anything too loudly and have it misconstrued or worse, taken as an insult by the Careers. That accounted for roughly the second third of us.

Finally there were quite a few of us eating alone. Some, like the ugly kid with the long face who seemed to be pushing his luck by the Careers, ate at a table all by themselves. Others may have occupied the same table, but were clearly not speaking; just minding their own businesses as they plodded through breakfast.

Nearest to our own table, two young kids, a boy and a girl, were talking easily back and forth. Occasionally I could make out a word here or there, but nothing distinct. The boy was entirely unremarkable, and the girl would have been too, if it weren't for her red hair. It must've fallen to her waist, and even if she was speaking quietly and certainly only concerning herself with her young companion, that hair was difficult to miss.

Also within near spitting distance, would've been an ugly pock-marked dishwater blonde, who had been drawing what looked like oatmeal into her mouth in long, belabored spoonfuls. Sitting at her same table, but on the opposite side and with plenty of room between them, was a shorter and compact but strong looking dark-skinned kid. I say kid because while I could not be entirely sure, he seemed younger than me.

Farah looked herself, or her new self anyway, actually wearing nondescript athletic ware. For once she was not decked out in black, instead wearing mostly gray, white, and there was a bit of purple on her pants to boot. Those cat eyes of hers were begging me for my opinion of our fellow tributes at first sight, but this was a much too dangerous place to try and be candid.

"Maybe they'll have a hairstyling session." I tried, lips curving into a forecasted smile. "You can give that tall girl over there a makeover." It would've been perhaps more appropriate to say such a thing about the crater face slurping her oatmeal, but I knew the giantess was a Career. Reason enough.

Although it seemed she was trying not to, Farah let out a soft gasp of a chuckle, shaking her head willfully. She spoke down at her half eaten wedge of cantaloupe, "You are _such_ an idiot." Before breakfast I was under the impression that we weren't going to act like we knew or cared about the other in any way, but Farah had retooled this strategy. She had cited that our attempt to _not_ look like we were allies, would be too transparent, and the Careers might notice. There was certainly something to be said for that, but I wasn't so sure the Careers were looking at any of us. Maybe one or two of them, but they were obviously not caring if anyone knew who belonged to their group.

Soon enough, everyone had finished eating, and just as the biggest, most muscled Career had been shouting to gain the attention of some guy sitting on the opposite side of the room, an older woman and man who were obviously from the Capitol, notified us that we would begin our training and physical activity time. Now even the Careers had shut the hell up, and all two dozen of us eventually began following them. All of this was done under the inspection and presence of the Peacekeepers. I kept secretly hoping that one of the Careers would try and pull something, and get themselves killed for being disobedient or aggressive in the process. No such luck.

Eventually we all separated, and by the time I was brought out into a sizable outdoor area with manicured hedge rows, plants, and grass around what looked like a miniature running track, I had to believe that all my fellow tributes were afforded similar areas. It had been explained to me then that this time was my own to do as I saw fit…but I needed to know that none of my activities could be monitored by any of my competitors. No further explanation was given. I took the opportunity to begin walking. I wasn't going to run full-out, who knew just what might be coming up next? As I walked around the smallish track that might have been about fifty yards long, I could see the tower where my sleeping quarters were. Amazing how fresh the air smelled here…crisp even. With all of the people, I might have thought the Capitol would smell polluted, but that was not the case at all.

Just when I had felt as though I'd sufficiently walked a decent distance, and I was starting to question the point of this endeavor, out came Roman, looking snappily dressed as ever. Even if he was not in a suit jacket and tie, his curly hair was perfectly placed, white as always, and he'd given me a half-knowing smile as he'd sidled up.

"Don't want to impress yourself too soon, I see." He cracked.

I laughed, unable to help myself. "So…what, we're supposed to be pushing ourselves to the limits here? Run a marathon? Do jumping jacks? Back _handsprings_, perhaps?"

"Yeah? Lemme see one." He teased me, nonplussed by my sarcastic and mildly annoyed expression. "It's just some outdoor time to do whatever you want to. In a bit they'll be taking you all down to the Training Center gymnasium. There's going to be lots of obstacle courses and things like that down there. Today and tomorrow you'll be able to get some one-on-one time from the experts."

"And everyone'll be able to see me, right?"

"Yep."

"Ok…" feeling relatively safe enough to be candid, "so I might not want to perform at my best, in case someone's looking over my shoulder."

Roman's lips pulled back and his handsome smile showed itself for me. "It's pretty big down there. But yes, if someone wanted to, they'd be able to see what it is you're up to. What stations you visit is entirely up to you, but I think it would be wise to try and see just where your strengths lie. I know you've got some of the instincts. But, like it or not," his expression told me that I didn't need to interject what I might've wanted to, "You are going to have to kill or be killed in the arena. Not all of the stations have to do with weapons training, though as you're not too sure what you're good on…I think that might be a terrific place to start. If you find something that you like, or have an aptitude with, stick with it. You won't be awarded points for creativity. Killing all your opponents the same way, gets the same result."

He continued with, "I also saw some of the other tributes…I think it's a pretty serious field this year. Maybe one or two total losers in the bunch, but reminds me of the people I got stuck with. Could play to your advantage though. Everyone's going to be looking for allies, and once the Games start, people might get cocky, and do something stupid."

Though I wasn't going to admit it to him, I was growing ever more impressed with Mister Furyk. Not only did he have a relaxing, easy going sense of humor, he really seemed to know his stuff. I couldn't help but wonder if Cecelia was being as thorough with Farah. "Yeah, wouldn't that be nice."

Roman's hand went to give my shoulder a half pat-squeeze, "Oh trust me. People are _going_ to do something stupid. It's just a matter of how stupid, when, and where you are when it happens. Now I won't be seeing you until tomorrow evening, so if there's any questions you've got, now might be the time."

My face might have gone white, as I felt under prepared. I didn't have a litany of topics to ask my mentor. "When do the Hunger Games actually start?"

"Three days from now. Meaning you've got today, tomorrow, the next day…and then the Games. Really your time to train and practice boils down to today and tomorrow. Tomorrow you'll still have some time, but in the evening, you'll be meeting with the Gamemakers privately so they can assess you."

"Sounds awesome." I spat with heavy sarcasm.

"That's the spirit!" he urged me back with equal sarcasm. "Listen, the Gamekeepers scores don't really even matter. People who are betting, sure. But a low score can be just as effective as a high one. It all depends on who you're getting into the arena with. Just be yourself, you'll be fine."

"Easy for _you_ to say…"

"Hey, I've been through this, remember?"

There was no complaint that I could come back with just then that wouldn't have made me seem like I was a whiny little brat, so I left Roman's statement stand.

"Don't worry too much about the other tributes seeing you in the Training Center. Even if they might want to look, trust me, they'll be way too preoccupied trying to hone up on their own skills. Today and tomorrow you'll have access, and it is for your benefit."

"Ok. Well, so uh…have fun doing whatever it is you'll be doing."

"Oh yes, great fun." He shook his head. "Except for the whole, having to fight for your life at the end of it part, trust me you got the better end of the deal." As much and in as many different ways as I would've liked to dislike Roman, or think him a bad guy, I just couldn't. I didn't know if it was by design, but it seemed like every time I spoke with him now, I was feeling more at ease. Maybe I really would do alright during these Hunger Games. No…I was _going _to kick everyone's ass…I was going to win.

I watched Roman head off, and with a renewed sense of purpose, I started picking up my speed around the miniaturized track. Soon I was jogging. I needed to try and be in the absolute best shape of my life. After all, it _was_ what was hanging in the balance.

* * *

><p>By the time that I was riding the elevator back to my room, I was a bit sore and had developed a couple of bruises from the Training Center. I discovered that yes indeed I could still throw a knife, and use one well-enough. The knife is sort of the catch-all weapon in the Hunger Games. They are usually in decent supply, and can be useful as well as lethal. The biggest downside to having a knife is that when faced off against another weapon, be it a spear, sword, axe, or bow and arrow…it usually would lose. I'd certainly seen plenty of tributes killed with a knife, only an idiot would discount them as weak weapons. Probably good for taking out lesser prey, if given the opportunity, but I could not expect to be slaying any armed Careers with one.<p>

They'd had a gun station, where I donned protective headphones and shot at a variety of targets. Not as good as the last time Dad and I had gone shooting, but it probably had to do with my nerves. Unlike knives, guns were very rarely given to tributes and if so, ammunition was usually extremely limited. So much so that relying on it as your chief means of defense was more of a hindrance than a help. Would they have given us guns, if there wasn't going to be at least one? Seemed like sound reasoning, but my skepticism rarely left me for long—especially when dealing with the Capitol. All of this was a game, right? As such, seemed like a clever Gamemaker or two might have put firearms in the Training Center just to fuck with us. Dangle the carrot, and then rip it away at the last moment.

Things that did not deal directly with how I performed at the various stations in the Training Center had happened, and it was these things which I found more important right now. I had been approached by a tall, steady looking guy who I was relatively sure was older than me, named Knox. I hadn't seen him much before, I knew he was not one of the Careers. This point was driven home, when he'd said that he wanted to get together another group of us to move against the Careers. Fight fire with fire, he had said. His sales pitch was short, and sweet. Just how I liked it.

On the surface, forming a group of Anti-Careers to take out the Careers seemed like an ideal solution to the problem. There were plenty of reasons to give a person pause, but chiefly may have been that the Careers were trained in this. When the shit hit the fan, they were going to stay calm and collected, at least that's what I had to operate on the belief of. Knox had seemed to gain a couple of devout followers already, but fortunately for me he'd asked me late, and so I had been able to sound positive about the idea, without having to give a definitive answer.

I knew that Knox was from District 9, because in the Training Center our district numbers had been pinned to whatever it was that we were wearing. That in of itself was extremely encouraging. Eight and Nine had some real similarities, not to mention the geography. Today really was opening my eyes to that. There weren't many stereotypes that got dissolved in the course of the afternoon.

The tributes from Eleven and Twelve seemed liked simple minded bumpkins, same could've been said for the people from Ten, except that both of them appeared to have a more aware glint in their eyes. The tributes from Four had great tans, though the rat-faced kid who was from there dispelled the myth that everyone from Four was good looking.

The delegation from Three and Six seemed a bit on the brainy side, all of them…which fit in perfectly with what most of Panem would expect.

I discovered the tall Amazonian girl was from District Two, but her partner wasn't the huge towering guy—he was from One. It had been the longer-haired guy who seemed very serious and never cracked a smile, that was from Two. I believe that he scared me the most. He seemed quiet but deadly. Unlike the gorgeous girl from One, or her intimidating fellow tribute, or anyone else in the Career bunch, I couldn't seem to put a label on the guy from Two.

Turns out that the cute but turncoat black gal was from District Seven. She'd obviously thrown in her lot with the Careers, as she was only speaking with _them_. The ugly, long faced guy who had eaten breakfast near the table of Careers was her partner, from Seven. If he was with them, he definitely seemed to be the lowest man on the totem pole. If he wasn't, then all bets on him were off, but he seemed to be orbiting around the group of Careers all day. Although they ignored him, it seemed he was tolerated. I had to assume that he was smart enough to see that even being drug along by the Careers, was a smart move. Any time you can ensure that you won't be killed on sight, is great.

A group of Eight Careers? That was daunting to say the very least. Even if they were all going to slaughter one another at some point, with those kinds of numbers, they wouldn't have to until the rest of us were dead. That fact made Knox's offer all the more logical. I would not say that it was enticing, because it really wasn't, but if there was going to be a pack of eight Careers, that left 16 of us.

Though I'd have to speak with him later for confirmation, I was pretty sure that Knox wanted to get everyone else rallied against the Careers. Problem was that some kids seemed hell bent on going it alone, at least this was my perception. Daisy, Knox's own district-mate, had seemed a bit squirrelly and tense as she stood nearby, while Knox Halverting filled me in on his master plan. In theory, it absolutely sounded great. I was far too much of a pessimist, to simply accept things were going to be as they seemed. While I hadn't said anything to any of the Careers, chances were that sooner or later someone was going to squeal on Knox and his plan, or they'd figure it out themselves.

This put a tremendous target on Knox's back. It sucked, because I genuinely liked the guy. I couldn't say just what it was about him, but he seemed like someone I'd want to talk to in my regular everyday life. As soon as the Careers caught win of his plan, he was undoubtedly public enemy number one, in their eyes. I couldn't blame Daisy for looking a bit hesitant. Knox was making big moves, and by the simple fact that they belonged to the same district, she was going to get thrown in with him, whether she liked it or not.

Aside from all of this information I'd found out, or at least believed I'd found out, Farah had barely spoken to me after breakfast. This was part of our plan, granted. But I hadn't seen her speaking with too much of anyone down in the Training Center. I was sure I had caught her speaking to the pretty brunette from Six near the trap-making station, but I did not know what that meant, if anything. Roman wasn't around, and that bothered me as well. It was good to have a sounding board when feeling overwhelmed like I was presently. I'd even take Jarvis, because the least he could do was look impassive as I vocalized some of my thoughts.

I had knocked on Farah's door, but got no answer. What the hell was going on? As I took a shower and rinsed off the sweat and grime that had accumulated throughout the day of physical activity, I couldn't stop my thoughts from reeling around.

Had Farah's sincerity all been some kind of ploy? She'd milked me for all the information she possibly could, and was now running her own agenda? This thought settled in my stomach like a rock. The sweet, clean scent of the soap on my body and the conditioner I was letting set in my hair as I stood outside the radius of the shower's spray, suddenly made me feel like I was going to puke.

Fortunately, apart from having push-button nearly everything, the shower a small built in recess to the wall where you could sit. I did so, and tried to stop the feeling that my intestines were being marched on by ants. The feeling just sat there, pulsating and wanting to turn me inside out. If I could vomit, maybe I'd get rid of that feeling but I'd never been someone who could throw up very easily. I knew that I shouldn't be this panicky, or I'd never be able to survive in the actual Games. Several times Farah and I had looked at each other, and there was something different about how she was looking at me. I didn't want to feel like this…not at all, but I was having this slow and steady dread that she'd played me for a fool, and had no intention of being my partner.

No…I was overreacting. All she was doing, was precisely what we'd agreed upon yesterday. Not behave in front of the other tributes like were as much of a team as we truly were. Once I got back under the warmth of the shower's stream, I allowed myself to relax a bit more.

"Get a grip." I told the shower around me, as I rinsed out my conditioner. If it was going to be like that, some small part of wished we could dispense with all these pre-game rituals, and just toss us all in a room with some knives and guns. The cafeteria would do fine. Get it done and over with. No, I knew that the quicker the 63rd Games actually began, the closer I was to my own death. When I relaxed a little, I knew that I wanted to put off the Games for as long as possible. It was like trying to outrun a train…you were never going to succeed. I couldn't outrun the Hunger Games. As soon as Jarvis had pulled my stupid name from that stupid container, that was it.

Even after my shower I knew that for the very first time since being in the Capitol, I didn't have anything scheduled. I could go anywhere I was allowed, do whatever tickled my fancy. Standing in the hallway I thought about going to knock on Farah's door once more, but I didn't want to give myself the opportunity to be let down again. Instead I called the elevator, and faced with the long list of floors, realized that I had absolutely no idea where I wanted to go. I just needed to go _somewhere_.

Before I entirely realized just where I was going, the doors were emptying back out into the sub level far below the tower, where the training gymnasium was. The walls down here were concrete and so thick, as I stepped out I was encased in the sounds of silence. Rounding the corner, I heard voices so, I strained my ears. Soon enough I was eavesdropping on one of my competitors, speaking with one of the Peacekeepers still stationed by the gymnasium.

"I'm sorry, no tributes are permitted here after four fifteen, miss. You were informed of this." The Peacekeeper was saying in a strong, but not overpowering way.

"I think I left something of mine in there. It's really important." The brunette was saying.

"Then it'll be there tomorrow. We have no interest in pilfering items from the tributes, trust me. You're free to wait around if you'd like, but the answer isn't going to change. After 4:15, no tributes allowed, no exceptions."

Suddenly aware of my presence, I ran back around the corner, heart thudding in my ears, as I tried to look completely casual, calm, and pick up the usual gait of walking. When the female tribute rounded the corner, she stopped short, and gave me a look with one raised eyebrow, and some suspicion in her eyes. She had a small nose and a nice curve to her lips, but had disquiet light blue eyes. Her longer hair was braided down and away from her face, terminating somewhere out of sight along her back side. I knew she wasn't one of the Careers, but why hadn't I noticed her before?

"You make a habit of listening to peoples conversations?" she tossed at me a bit willfully. It was an accusation, a correct one at that, but she was still waiting for an answer, not just pushing past me.

"Huh? I don't know what you're talking about." I managed with a look of true confusion on my face, or at least I hoped that's how it was being conveyed to her. Sidestepping, I followed through with the lie and continued on my way towards the gymnasium.

"It's closed." Came the blue-eyed girls' voice right after me, distrust still in her eyes, but she was obviously trying to size me up. Whether or not I doing precisely what I had been, or perhaps if I was any kind of threat. Who knew just what she was thinking.

"I thought we could go anywhere." I tried.

"Yeah, except Atalya told us that we wouldn't be permitted back in the gymnasium after quarter-past-four. I forgot too, so don't worry."

"That sucks." It was good that she looked suspicious of me, I would be more worried if she had played as though the thought hadn't crossed her mind at all that I could've been spying or eavesdropping. Not knowing what was happening with Farah, I was trying not to grow paranoid but given the circumstance, it wasn't the easiest.

The girl said, "We've got tomorrow, too."

I made this concession with a small nod, "I feel like I could use a week, though. A month would be better."

She didn't smile, but I could tell that whatever I was doing to her, I wasn't putting her on the defensive. "I know, right? I think I managed a few things ok, at the very least."

"Yeah, me too. Pretty nerve wracking though. We've only got two days to try and defend ourselves, until they put us all in the tiger cage."

"Yeah," Miss blue eyes said, "except _we're_ the tigers."

There was something poetic and knowledgeable about the manner in which she'd said that, and I certainly could not help but pick up on it. "I suppose you're right about that. I'm Herod, I'm from District Eight."

"Wren. Six." The girl said succinctly, though even at first glance I had to admit her name suited her somehow. "Herod, I've never heard that name before."

"Me either. My parents liked it." I shrugged my shoulders.

Wren seemed to be debating on telling me something or other, but it wasn't until I opened my own mouth to say something, that she decided to go ahead.

"You're with that quiet girl, right? Black hair, kind of down over her face?"

Now was the time, there wasn't any going back after this. Then again, maybe there was. All day I had been pretty good at giving non-committal answers, why stop now? "Farah is her name, yeah. She's from District Eight."

"She's kind of odd." Wren observed.

"Can't argue with you there. She seems pretty alright to me though, maybe a little bizarre." I tried my best to hide my nervousness. Anything I said about Farah and I might get to other people now, there was no promise that Wren was not going to give up this information to anyone else. She could even lie—who would know, except Farah and myself. I did not want to acknowledge the fact that I was all but certain I had seen Farah and Wren speaking in the gymnasium earlier this afternoon.

Wren said, "I've never been to District Eight. Just to Six, One, and here."

I wanted to ask just how she might've ended up in District One, but if memory served, it wasn't too far removed from Six. In any case, they were both even west of the Capitol, or so I believed. This was by far the most 'west' I had ever been in Panem. "It's alright. Sort of dirty sometimes, but there are parts that are alright. I don't know much about Six. You guys work on transportation, I know."

"And medicine." Wren explained. "Six used to be all about medicine, but now only about a third of our population is still involved with science and medicine. Guess the Capitol decided that it would be more cost effective to farm out the engineering and transportation to us, eh?" Continuing, she said, "Well you two seem nice enough," flashing me just a little bit of a smile. "I was talking to Arko about the two of you. He's the guy with the glasses? Of everyone we've met so far, seems like you two are the most genuine. I'm not trying to say anything here really, just that you and Farah seem nice. I hope you do well."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was all set to defend myself and worry, and now the guy with the glasses and Wren here, from District Six said that they liked us!

"Yeah, I know what you mean." I took a stab at it. "It's like, if you even talk to someone, everyone's going to think your allies, and have each other's backs to the end. Everyone's afraid to be civil."

Wren's blue eyes shone a bit in the lighting. They were the quickest, sharpest thing about her. Her features were pretty and feminine, her hair braided back like that was even unassuming. Still I knew she was very intelligent. It was just something about the way she carried herself. "Exactly. Though I don't think any of us want to see the Careers win." She glanced over her shoulder, and perhaps with good reason. We were in an open hallway, but at the same time…there weren't many places for someone to hide. In the tower, by our plush rooms, who knew where someone might overhear. "That guy from Nine…"

"Knox." I came out with. I figured I had more to lose by playing dumb, than being honest at the moment.

"Right, Knox. He wants to get everyone together against the Careers." She seemed to be chewing the inside of her cheek, and I noticed just how cute that made Wren appear. I wondered just how old she was, but now wasn't the time. I might have accidentally landed into an alliance here, tenuous as it may be, I didn't want to ruin it.

"Seems risky." I admitted. Wren seemed to be more of my same mind, cautious, so I didn't see the harm in it. "If they find out he's doing it, they'll want to kill him and anyone he talked to."

"Yeah, but they'll want to kill everyone, anyway. Arko pretty much already told him that we're with him." The pretty girl before me gave out a soft sigh. "I've decided that for better or worse, I guess we ought to try and do it. The guys from Five and Twelve seem on board. I don't know yet about Ten or Eleven. Really though, it's probably just because I'm stuck with it now whether I like it or not," and we both shared a chuckle, "but the more I think of it the more sense it's making to me. Every year the Careers join up, and slaughter most everyone they can."

The more I spoke with this blue eyed beauty, the more I was liking her. I tried my best not to notice the gloss on her lips, or the fact that she seemed to be a little shorter than me. "Right, well all of them volunteered. _That's_ the difference." I said, knowing I was right. "Knox had said that. They're playing to win. The rest of us are playing to not lose." I got a small shiver as Knox's words reverberated through the hallway, even if he wasn't here. That kid had leadership potential, and what's more, I think Knox realized it.

Looking into my eyes, I couldn't be sure, but I was thinking that Wren felt a connection to me as well. "Precisely." She turned her head to lightly cough. "Arko is more impulsive than I am, but…it isn't as though we have so many more appealing options at the moment. My _parents_," her voice wavered slightly, "are both in the medical field. I know how to address and treat wounds. I can't promise that there'll be anything out there to work with, but I can offer that much."

I tried not to look too excited, as she impressed me more…not only as a girl, but as an ally. "Better than me. All I can do is try and follow orders, and not get my ass killed."

"Well, if nothing else you're another person on our side." Wren explained.

She was right of course, but it had me questioning just what sort of skills I did add to the table. I certainly was not going to be as invaluable as Wren, if she knew how to treat wounds.

I couldn't help myself from smiling at Wren. Not only had she said just about every thing I could have hoped for her to say, she was smart, and very pretty. Surely she had a boyfriend back in District Six, I didn't even need to question that. Girls like her never went long without a boyfriend, they just couldn't help it.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked.

"Oh." I shook my head with a bit of a smile and said, "Nothing, really. Just that we probably should be getting back to our rooms. I need to check and see if Farah is back."

As it turned out, we rode the elevator back up together, and I discovered that Wren was 16. She had wished me happy belated birthday, upon discovering that I had just passed the 17-year mark. She was incredibly easy to talk to. Was I really lucky enough to have such a seemingly perfect girl as an ally? Maybe she had some huge gaping flaw, but whatever it might be, I sure couldn't see it. As she'd departed on the sixth floor, and I rode up the two extra floors alone, I realized the only possibility would be that she's a tremendous liar. She certainly came across more sincere than Farah, even. Was that Wren's problem? She was such a gifted actress? My gut told me no…but considering that any of these tributes could be pumping me for information, or feeding me lies, made it difficult to trust my gut.

Farah didn't seem to be back in her room once again, not even after three bouts of knocking. I leaned in and tried to decipher if any sound was coming from her suite, like a shower running perhaps, but I got nothing. Obviously she was sleeping soundly, or busy doing something elsewhere that had nothing to do with me. What is it that she could possibly be doing?

Eventually I was forced to return to my own room, from lack of places to go, and people to see. I was not allowed, or whatever the reason was, to see Roman until tomorrow night. Farah was off doing who-knows-what, so I had nothing to do but sit on my new-found excitement after talking with Wren.

Once within the confines of my quarters, it was much easier—surprisingly, to relax and forget about all the tumult of the Hunger Games. I listened to music, I even checked out the television, though as the only thing running was the government's special on me and my competitors, it wasn't available to us. The Capitol did want it to be fair…even if the circumstances of what placed all two dozen of us _in_ that arena, were frightfully _unfair_.

While at first I'd selected music that I enjoyed, eventually I picked some light classical, played at a low level and the effect was very calming. I'd looked out the windows, seeing the bustling Capitol buzz around me like bees in an active hive. Going to rest on some of the furniture, I'd left the shade wide open, but even with the copious light coming in, I was growing sleepier and sleepier. Eventually, I dozed.

Later that evening I had awoken, dazed to realize just how long of an accidental nap I had taken. Finding a note that she'd left for me under my door, I'd gone and spoken with Farah. She seemed oddly concerned about us joining up with Knox and his seemingly growing army of anti-Careers. Apparently she'd found a good spot to 'clear her head' up on the roof of the tower. Heights didn't bother me exactly, it might be a good vantage point to look out at the Capitol, but she also told me that some of the Careers came up to enjoy the view. Apparently they'd completely ignored her, except for the biggest, most apish looking one from District One asking her how it was going.

Apparently Farah had just given him a small nod, and took her leave from the roof altogether. Probably the smartest course of action, and none of the Careers had said anything snide to her in departure. That surprised me.

"Do you know what you're going to do for the Gamemakers?" Farah asked me pointedly, seeming more nervous than I'd ever remembered seeing her before.

Shrugging I had to say, "Not really."

"Motum was saying that—" Farah paused, clearly seeing the look on my face. "The guy from Five? He's got short dark hair, he's with that little blonde girl."

Alright, so the guy who looked Asian must've been named Motum. I had definitely learned that the blonde from District Five, the same girl who had the light-up dress at the opening ceremony, was named Lurie. She had thrown me the briefest of smiles earlier today, so I'd gone ahead and returned it. Not only was it stupid to make enemies, but Lurie seemed genuinely nice. Hopelessly out of her league with all of this Hunger Games stuff, even more-so than myself, but still was among the most pleasant of anyone I'd come across. Seemed wrong that a nice girl like that, who couldn't have been more than 12 or 13, was to be killed. I couldn't allow myself to think like that. Who's to say what Lurie could or could not do. Yes it was terrible that she'd likely be getting killed…but what about me! Same difference.

"Anyway, Motum said that you don't have to necessarily use weapons. You just need to show them what you can do, and if they're impressed…obviously the higher score you'll get."

"Maybe you can design something for them, or…" catching Farah's uncertain look, I just sighed and shook my head. "I don't know. This is so hard." There was more that I could've added to that statement, but really those four little words summed it all up nicely.

Farah's hand wound lightly over my forearm, and I tried not to jump when it did. Her voice was pitying, but also very understanding. "I know. I wish we'd been able to meet under…different circumstances."

I looked at her, Farah's eyes downcast at her lap as she'd removed her hand from my arm. After not speaking with her most of the day, I was realizing that we were paired up. Not just because we were from District Eight, but because we shared our thoughts and opinions with one another. If I'd been more bold like Etcher, and perhaps a little more curious than I truly was, I might've tried to give her a hug, or something. Still while I felt close with Farah, there was something between us that was counterproductive to getting too close. It might have just been the Hunger Games. Obviously it is a bit pointless to start thoroughly enjoying someone's company, days before you'll be pitted against each other in a battle to the death. As our eyes met though, I knew it was something else. Something about Farah that kept me from going the extra steps, and seeing what might happen.

"Knox has got Daisy," Farah listed off, referring to the girl from Nine, "Motum and the blonde girl from Five. The two from Six, and the people from Ten seemed interested too. The guy from Twelve, his name's Noah, he wants in on the deal too, but his partner is really flaky."

It took me a moment, but then I pictured the female tribute from Twelve. Green eyes, but everything else about her was unremarkable, and it seemed that even her personality could use a tune up. She seemed twitchy and extremely high strung, it had been written all over her face. Under different circumstances that might've been downright embarrassing. _She_—whatever her name was—was in here with people younger than her who didn't seem as fidgety and uncertain as her by half. "Sounds about right," I said.

"That many people together can be powerful," I reasoned, "but they also might be slow. If Knox is wanting to face off, all of us versus the Careers, we'll be easy pickings."

Farah nodded, and cleared her throat a little. "I'm thinking the same thing. Hopefully he isn't that dumb. The way it will work, is if we find someone whose with us, not to kill them. Then we can try to whittle down the Careers. Even then, I'm not too sure it'll work. Guess it's more just a nice _thought_, than anything else."

Wow, was I that melancholy? Something told me yes. Seeing it on Farah over there, I realized how defeating it could be to be to verbalize things so honestly.

"I think I'm going down to the cafeteria, and eat something." I proclaimed.

"You could eat here." Farah suggested mildly.

Somehow the fact that I knew she probably wanted me to stay, made me all the more certain that I was not going to. "Nah I need to be somewhere semi-public. Besides, maybe there'll be someone down there I can talk to. If Knox is, I can get the story as to just what he plans to do, other than just get us all together."

"Alright." She said. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Part of me wanted to apologize, and explain that no…I'd stay with her for a while longer, but I just could not seem to. Why? I couldn't tell, myself.

While I fully expected to find the cafeteria closed, it was demonstrably open. The lights were on, and what's more, there were a couple of my fellow tributes down there.

I was accosted by the sexy girl from District Four, who had actually told me her name was Tecla. She had seemed nice, but that's all the more reason for me to distrust her utterly. She hadn't wanted anything specific, but it was making me very nervous, as her rat-faced comrade from Four, and the longer haired silent guy from Two, looked on. She asked me some vague questions about my district. She'd alluded to the fact that she might've thought me alright looking, because she figured everyone from District Eight was plain looking. I too let this pass without any reaction.

Tecla was not being too overtly flirtatious, but just the way her eyes moved, or the way she behaved, it was always there—just below the surface. It was easy to see that Tecla used sex as the medium of life, and how she maneuvered through it. Wouldn't have surprised me at all if she was sleeping with one or both of her fellow Careers back there. I had no proof obviously, but she seemed the type. Had Etch been here, he would've surely said or done something that would've gotten us both into a lot of trouble.

Thankfully, Tecla had left me after a span that couldn't have been longer than a couple of minutes. I had a brilliant view of her posterior, but I was too uncomfortable to enjoy it. The guys from Two and Four were of course glancing in my direction, and I fully expected them to come on over, but they did not. When the three Careers all departed rather suddenly, I should've felt relief. Part of me wondered if with Tecla's little visit, was I now number one on their hit list? I hadn't done anything, except perhaps making the mistake of coming down to the cafeteria.

Again without even needing to, I was approached by two other Careers, the two I was pretty sure were from District Ten, or Eleven. The guy was shorter, maybe just an inch or two taller than me, with a build similar to my own. Perhaps a bit more solid and sturdy looking. He had bright blue eyes, and blonde hair. His companion was nice looking, with short dark brown hair and hazel eyes. She smiled at me first.

"Mind if we sit down?"

"By all means." I said, noticing how after the little visit from Tecla, even the amazing food in the Capitol was tasting bland and unremarkable. The Careers departure still filled the room, like an undulating echo. All that remained was myself, the pair who now joined me, and the black kid who ate further away from us, apparently having no designs on joining us anytime soon, either.

"I'm Cynthia, this is Haw." The brunette told me, hanging onto the half-eaten delicious looking yellow pear. "Your name is Henry, right?"

"Herod." I corrected, nodding first to Cynthia, and then to the blonde guy, Haw.

Cynthia chuckled, "Sorry about that. Knew it started with an H."

"So what'd she say to you?" Haw inquired boldly. He seemed merely curious. He had a youthful, open face that made him look immediately trustworthy, somewhat similar to Wren.

"Oh…nothing much." I murmured, shaking my head. "I think she might've been trying to intimidate me, I'm not sure. Very pretty…but, I'm not stupid enough to fall for that old routine."

Cynthia chuckled, smiling lightly at me. "She's gorgeous. And she isn't quite as much of a royal bitch as that pretty girl from District One."

"Girls like that are bad news." Haw said, hiding a small yawn as he picked at the piece of cake he'd brought over.

I spoke to Haw, then. "She try and pull anything with you?"

"Not really. Are you uh," he glanced to Cynthia and then proceed, not exactly the best at covert operations there, "Going to side with Knox then?"

"I don't see why not. Yeah. It's better than any plan I can come up with." I admitted with a shrug.

Haw laughed, and his laughter was pleasant—reminded me of Etcher's a little bit. "Well sure. Then you're with us too. Us'n, District Five, Six…the guy from Twelve."

"Knox and Daisy, of course." Cynthia added, looking between me and her peer. "What about the girl from your District, Herod? Is she in, or out?"

Now I was trapped, there was absolutely no good way of skirting the issue, here. "Yeah, she is. Farah's just quiet is all. She's a little different, but she's in."

Cynthia was nodding, as Haw said, "Cool. So there's nine of us then, to their eight. Dunno about everyone else. Including him, over there," motioning to the black kid who didn't even seem to be eavesdropping on us. "Guess they've got their own designs on what 'ta do.

"The girl from Twelve is probably with us too," Cynthia said, though she didn't look too sure. "I can't remember her name, I think it starts with a K."

I ate my pasta, which was beginning to taste better now that the Careers had departed and I was in the company of District Ten. I couldn't believe my luck, really. Unless every last one of them was playing me for a fool, between them, Knox and Daisy, the people from Five that Farah knew, and Wren and Arko from Six, I'd sort of fallen into what was shaping up to be a solid alliance.

Haw laughed, "She's awful nervous though, whatever her name is. I don't think we can really count on her for much, is all I'm saying."

"Agreed." I threw out there. Seemed like a good time to agree with Haw, and further solidify our…friendship? That might have been a strong word for what it really was. Cooperation is really all it was. The eight of us who seemed solidified behind Knox. It might all fall to shit, but like Farah had so somberly explained upstairs, it was a nice thought. All of us standing up and hoping to challenge the Career tributes. Sounded good to the ear, even if proverbially on paper, it might have seemed a have a lot of holes in it.

"How old are you?" Cynthia asked.

"Seventeen. Just turned seventeen."

"I'll be seventeen in about a month." Cynthia said. "What're you lookin' at me like that for, Haw? It's true. I'll be older than you, no matter how you look at it."

"Shut up Cyn, you ain't fooling nobody. Just because you're older doesn't mean you're smarter."

I listened to them bicker, though good-naturedly back and forth for a little while until I couldn't stand it anymore. "You two know each other? I mean, before you were reaped."

"Sure do." Haw said succinctly.

Cynthia was willing to elaborate a little bit more. "Our families know each other a little bit. We'd met about what, four of five times before. It isn't as though we were best friends or anything, but now I'm stuck with him whether I like it or not. Aren't I?" Her eyes flew to her side, where her fellow tribute polished off the remainder of his dessert.

"Like you're such a treat to be around all the damn time," Haw spat her, giving me a look which insinuated that Cynthia might not be the pleasant young woman I saw before me, around the clock.

I laughed at them, finding it incredibly refreshing. They seemed to be on the same wavelength. This was unlike Knox and Daisy, who seemed to be near polar opposites, or Arko and Wren who I got the impression were a bit more like Farah and myself. Allies…thrown into this situation, but normally might never associate. Got me wondering just what I might have done if I _had_ met Farah back home.

I spoke with Cynthia and Haw for a while, none of us noticing just when the dark skinned guy from either Three or Eleven, departed. I genuinely liked both Haw and Cynthia, both for slightly different reasons. Haw was very down to earth and seemed trustworthy and a solid guy all-around. Cynthia was sprightly, and effortlessly amusing. Whereas I could picture Haw working hard in his district, it was difficult to picture Cynthia doing anything much more taxing than feeding some chickens or milking some cows, perhaps.

Even more shocking, I found myself sharing with them a bit about my own life. A few things even Wren, even _Farah_, didn't know. They hadn't asked, whereas these guys from Ten naturally did. They were salt of the earth, good-hearted types. They couldn't hide it if they tried. Made me feel guilty, because like little Lurie from District Five, Cynthia and Haw were people I did not want to see die in the Hunger Games.

Cynthia had an older brother, and Haw had two older sisters, and a younger brother. His family worked at a feed lot, whereas her family were ranchers. That surprised me, because I just expected a girl who worked on a farm might be less willowy and lightly built, than Cynthia was.

Haw had headed off to bed first, leaving Cynthia and I to talk a bit more. She had a boyfriend that, if she won these Hunger Games, planned on marrying as soon as possible. I couldn't fault her for that, not in the least. We both commiserated about how unfair these Games were, but how under Knox's umbrella, we might stand a fighting chance.

After all, what else could we really hope for?


	5. Making Preparations

Essentially, the day's entirety had been given to all of us, to train. It seemed that some of my competitors were either entirely sure of their skills, or they were trying to save their strength for their presentation to the Gamemakers. That was in a few words, fucking nuts.

There was no way I was going to not exhaust my possibilities at the various training stations. That's what they were there for, after all!

Hunting and trapping, was not where my strengths lie, not even a little bit. Despite Dyne's suggestion to always shoot a little higher than you expect you need to with a bow, I couldn't hit shit. I was marginally better with a crossbow, but it was nothing to write home about.

I hit my target most regularly when using the lightweight throwing knives provided, or tossing one of the many utility knives available. I was most confident there, and through the use of guns…but it didn't seem too likely that the Gamemakers were going to introduce firearms very readily, if at all.

Where was the problem in using knives anyway? Every year, a few tributes were sure to be killed with knives. They had many uses, they were lightweight enough to be thrown, they were deadly, and when compared to a gun for example, they were quiet. I'd almost cut myself a couple of times already. None of my competitors or observers needed to know that, but I sure did. If I could mess up here in training, whose to say what kind of chances I had at keeping my composure and landing my knife in a target when it counted.

The woman who had taught me some of the basics of camouflaging was extremely knowledgeable, but to try and implement these techniques day after tomorrow, was quite a tall order. Decorating my body in the surrounding bits of landscape, lying flat, and holding still all seemed like the easiest ways—at least on the surface. Camouflaging became a more varied and interesting art, when you got into things like motion camouflage, or trying to eliminate your shadow. These skills were definitely interesting to hear about, and even see before my very eyes, but I was not at all confident that I might be able to pull it off in the arena.

I picked up a couple of small tricks she taught me, that I was reasonably sure I could implement. The biggest problem with camouflaging in general in the Hunger Games, is that you might not know when you're being hunted, or when you might be the hunter. In either case, disguising yourself can help tremendously, but if we were placed in a thick forest, dense jungle or some such, you wouldn't know where your enemies were. Though the more I thought on it, I suppose I preferred that than some hypothetical barren landscape where hiding places were very few and far between. I had seen two games in my lifetime that I could remember where such a strategy was employed.

The first time, everyone spread out and the first half of the games was quite boring as many tributes began to get malnourished and dehydrated. As those games wore on, however, it had been increasingly interesting just how clever the tributes could be, and because not many and died right off the bat, they remained interesting throughout.

The second time, tons of tributes were slaughtered almost immediately, and the whole Games had only lasted I believe three days. This was two or three years ago, I couldn't remember. Whether thick with vegetation, or desolate and open, everything depended upon the tributes. In this way, it was absolutely pointless to try and guess what the arena might be like. While I kept worrying about over or under thinking my fellow tributes, I wasn't going to concern myself too awful much with how the arena might look. I couldn't change it, so I had convinced myself it would be better just to wait and see, dealing with it once I got in there.

I had gotten an all-too-quick meeting with Roman. He'd not bothered asking me too many questions, but impressed upon me that I probably ought to decide if I was going to meet the Gamemakers tonight with the intention of wowing them, or was I going to undershoot—posting a less than stellar score in hopes that my competitors might overlook me. He told me there were no rules, which only added to my anxiety. If there was a strict set of rules, I might know just what to do. He'd not seemed too concerned about it, just had given me a pat on the back and told me that I'd be fine. I might just beg to differ with my mentor on that account.

By the time that the Gamemakers began seeing us, I was nothing short of being in a state of panic. We had been informed that this year we would be waiting in separate rooms, divided randomly while awaiting to be called. No one knew what order we were to be called, so there was a palpable sense of anxiety in the room. Seven people from our room had already been called. The black girl from District Seven, the young kid from District Three, the rat-looking tribute from Four, Noah from Twelve, Knox, then Farah, who I'd been fortunate enough to be placed in the same room with, had gone for her interview.

It had taken them a while it seemed, perhaps getting a tribute from the other holding room or two, and then they called for the Amazonian girl from Two, who I learned was called Zayne. Quite a masculine name, but she was a fairly masculine girl. It was not as though Zayne spoke with a deep voice, or dressed like a man might, but it was clear that she had been big, and no one in her life was going to discourage her from being a bruiser of a young woman.

This had left myself, the buzz-haired monolith of a guy from District One who now met my eyes briefly, perhaps as we were the only two men left, Lurie, Cynthia, and the gal from Twelve who for the first time I'd seen her, looked eerily calm. I had to wonder if there was something wrong with the girl. I hadn't avoided the guy from One's gaze, but I did not want it to linger, either. Someone like that, I did not want to give him any reason _whatsoever _to hate me. I couldn't say for sure, but he definitely seemed the type to hold a grudge over something like avoiding his gaze.

"They're getting down there." The guy from One said, his voice booming and thick, just like the rest of him.

"Yeah, I don't know if it's worse to go early, or late." Cynthia said, surprising me a bit with her boldness as she turned toward the guy with the buzz cut.

Lurie was sitting closest to me, looking demure as ever. Even amongst the five of us, she looked like the one thing that didn't belong with the others. The girl from Twelve had a sharp, bird-like quality to her eyes and her nose. It gave her the distinction of looking a bit cold and capable. Even Cynthia managed not to look like a complete wimp, even if she may have very-well been.

Lurie Sampson was five feet tall, not one inch more. She had blonde hair which was long and had a bit, not a lot, of natural curl in it. Her eyes were not particularly large, but they were clear and innocent. It was either her or the redhead from District Three who had the distinction of being the smallest tribute this year. Looking at Lurie for long, and anyone would be hard pressed not to think of a finely wrought children's doll that might be manufactured in District One. Although not striking or lovely, the word cute would be more than appropriate to use on her. When you factored in that she was naturally quiet and kept mostly to herself, I had to wonder what Buzzcut over there might have thought of her. They were at opposite ends of the spectrum, in every conceivable way.

I had listened to Buzzcut and Cynthia talk. Very bland generalities…nothing even what I would call friendly or even relevant, but that was alright with me. I didn't much feel like talking. Like Lurie over there, speaking did not calm me down in situations like this, if anything it might make me more panicky. I shot the little girl from Five a smile, and though she didn't notice at first, she returned it easily enough.

It was upsetting that Buzzcut was still here. If he weren't, we could openly discuss our plans. I was not too worried about the girl from Twelve, who was she going to tell? He enjoyed talking, that much was very clear. He was not at all above intimidation, and he employed various tactics against me and the girls, even now. I couldn't help but wonder if his talent for the Gamekeepers might be to actually rip something's head off, perhaps one of the life sized and realistically dense mannequins used for training? He did not worry me as much as the guy from Two, though. I would much rather have an enemy that I knew something about, than one who was mysterious.

Once Cynthia and Buzzcut's conversation had died down, we had a long undulating bout of silence. There were no clocks in the room, though it was nicely furnished. Occasionally someone might cough, clear their throat, readjust their position, or go to the adjacent bathroom. Who knew if anyone was actually doing something in there, it could've been to break up the monotony, or have a moment to one's self. When they had come for the green eyed tribute from District Twelve, that just left my allies, and the one who would surely be one of our greatest enemies.

There was one armed Peacekeeper in the room, who hadn't said a damn thing since we had all been placed in this holding tank. His presence alone was enough to deter anything untoward from happening. Even the Careers knew that if they wanted to see the Hunger Games they had volunteered for, they had better tow the mark until then.

Couldn't help myself from drawing a correlation to this process, and the Hunger Games themselves. People kept leaving the room, but didn't come back. The chances of myself, Lurie, Cynthia, and Buzzcut over there being the final four tributes left at the end of the Hunger Games was ludicrously laughable. Even if those of us in Knox's plan did manage to overtake all but one of the Careers, it seemed absurd that the three who would survive it all would be me, and two of the weakest links in our chain. Strange things do happen, but I would bet there was not even a 1% chance that the people still in the room would fill out the final four.

Now Buzzcut was looking at me again, I could feel his eyes burning into me as I tried to mind my own business and find something interesting about the pattern of the floor. I caught his eyes, but those grayish eyes of his just bore down on me with an even, almost expectancy.

"I'd say the waiting is the hardest part, but, we know that's not true." I said.

Cynthia, thankfully, made a soft chuckle, though Lurie didn't say anything, and Buzzcut's lips rolled back to reveal a demented sort of expression.

"Didn't know you were a comedian, kid." He tossed at me as though the comment were a knife.

Unsure of how I could possibly respond, I simply crossed my feet at the ankle, stretched out a bit more in the cozy chair I'd been occupying, and prayed that either his or my name would be called next. Just when I believed that he had gotten whatever jollies he wanted and would leave me alone, he proved me wrong.

"You know," he said as it were a matter of course, "I'm going to kill you all. _Every_," his eyes met mine then I noticed them cross to Lurie as he said, "_last_," finally depositing on Cynthia, "_one of you_."

Of course he was trying to intimidate us, but I knew somewhere that he was trying to egg me on, specifically. After all no one else was here but he and I, and two girls who, unless they were silently sitting on a gold mine of talent, weren't going to be favorites to win these Games.

The Gamekeeper kept his post diligently, though in the silence we all could hear him make a light swallowing sound. Maybe to remind Buzzcut that he ought not try any shit in here?

"Good for you." Came the small, retiring words from Lurie's voice box.

I was shocked, but at the same time I was ashamed that she'd said something like that, and not I. I felt my jaw tighten as I knew if Buzzcut headed for Lurie, I was going to stand up…and probably do something stupid. Fortunately for all of us, the abhorrent look on Buzzcut's face couldn't last for long, as the door swung open.

Even if Buzzcut might've wanted to be next, it wasn't him they wanted. It was me.

* * *

><p>I still couldn't shake the feeling that if I left Cynthia and Lurie, those two nice, girly girls with that brute, that he was going to continue to intimidate and bully them. I supposed I shouldn't feel so upset now. If I really wanted to something about it, I could've spoken up sooner, instead of leaving it to little Lurie to try and keep that asshole from One in his place.<p>

At least my legs didn't go pudding, or anything remotely that embarrassing as I was led into the chamber where there were plenty of weapons on stands and in sheathes, or lined out glittering on tables. Dummies, bulls eyes, human silhouettes used for shooting, not to mention all sorts of crafts and hodgepodge items that as far as I could imagine, had no earthly right belonging in this room. What, was someone going to make the Gamemakers a craft bracelet, or a pair of earrings? Come on…get serious.

Feeling the eyes of the Gamemakers upon me in the absolutely cavernous room, I began moving before my brain could even realize just what it was that I was doing. "Hi," I said wispily, but then cleared my throat as I was heading toward where the knives were, "I'm Herod Telfin. District Eight."

"We know who you are, son." Spoke the female Gamemaker, her voice a bit gravelly and I got the distinct impression that she was the oldest in the room.

Seeing the dummy made out of ballistics gel, I passed up the more impressive looking Bowie knife, and instead opted for a slender, serrated-edged hunting knife. I sent the blade spiraling, end over end, where it clunked evenly and neatly right into the dummy's face, making the mannequin bobble a bit. The two Gamemakers who had been whispering back and forth to one another before, now had gone quiet.

Oh yeah, now I had their attention. You damn right I did.

Confident as ever, I tossed the next knife, aiming for the heart. I'd already been reaching for a third blade, when I heard the disgusting clatter of my second projectile hitting, scraping, and bouncing off the floor. _Oh shit._

I supposed I should've tried to vary my repertoire a bit, but before long I had executed a couple of the ballistics dummies in short order. Slitting ones throat wide, I'd rapidly moved to the next, stabbing it from behind repeatedly in the chest. The third one, I tossed my knife into it's back and due to the relative closeness of it, the gel-form bobbed and weaved a bit. I spotted a couple of handguns on a far table, but I don't know what possessed me to do it, instead I had gathered up a bit of thick rope, and tied it thrice over, around the handle of the Bowie knife I'd not employed thus far.

Giving myself some slack, I let my body loose, my arms uncoil as if they were a lasso of rope themselves, and I began swinging my makeshift knife-on-a-rope around me. I heard the skidding of a chair and from my peripheral vision I could see the woman Gamemaker had stood up, obviously worried that it might come undone and go darting into her.

Heart beating fast, I didn't know what the fuck I was even doing…it'd just happened. Now I was standing before them all, whirling this piecemeal weapon around and over my head in a violent, loose circle. I'd never practiced this before in my life. Although I couldn't very-well let the momentum start to lessen, and set the weapon I'd created back down. Roman had told me to either impress them, or to under whelm them.

Gauging my distance carefully, I stepped toward one of the ballistic-gel mannequins once more and saw the briefest of blurs that belonged to my Bowie knife as it spun around on its axis. I'd been aiming for the neck. However as I increased my speed and flung my arm around, I felt a new force jarring me away as my grip on the rope had loosened and though I managed to keep both feet on the ground, I almost fell over.

It wasn't because I was just spazzing out, the blade of my knife had buried itself into the upper chest of one of the model forms. Although my cheeks were burning and my face must've been quite red, I made a point not to look at any of the Gamemakers, lest they discover that it was completely by accident that I'd managed to pull something off. Maybe not very useful in the long run, but at least now I was giving the illusion that when I'd tied that rope to the Bowie knife, it was thought out and planned.

Grabbing one of the handguns, I checked to ensure it's safety was off, and it wasn't so I made it so. I'd snapped on the sound canceling headphones. Amazing the technology they'd made in the Capitol. Back in District Eight, the only muffling headphones we had were big and clunky. These were lightweight and demurely small…almost like what someone might use on a portable listening device of some kind.

My first shot, I just graced the ring outside of the portion considered an 'x'. Remembering what my father told me, I leveled my breathing, and without thinking, took measured but swift steps toward the target. Every so often I would pop off another round, the ejected casings clattering and bouncing onto the ground as I kept my relentless march forward, emptying the entire magazine into my target.

None of my shots in the silhouette looked haywire. One shot specifically looked a bit out of step with the others, but I'd shot better than I expected. The whole idea behind this sort of demonstration was to exhibit the ability to have no scatter in one's shots. Anyone who thinks that it's easy to hit a still target in the same place as they continued to move toward it, probably hasn't tried it. Remembering what my father had taught me of gun safety, I removed the gun's now empty clip from the weapon and set both back onto the table where I'd gotten them from.

My eyes were mainly focused on one of the Gamekeepers, the youngest of them whose eyes were locked on mine, but I was sure the others were watching me as well. He was wearing ear-coverings as well.

I was trying to play it as cool as possible, hoping that my one misfire, or that crazy shit I did with the rope and the Bowie knife hadn't cost me too much. I gave a curt little nodding of my head to the Gamekeeper, and exited as quickly as possible before one of them might ask me a question and give me the opportunity to come across as the dufus I felt like.

None other than Roman was waiting there, dressed nicely but looking pretty casual for him, giving me a soft smile as he raised an eyebrow in expectation. "So, how'd it go? You look a little distressed."

"N-no," I stammered a little, "just extremely nervous I think." I went on to spill my guts, explaining how I'd used the knives, and the gun…but also how I'd tried some crazy-ass lariat looking thing with the Bowie knife, and how it had miraculously stuck in the dummy. I had begun to wonder if I should've done more or less, and as these thoughts trickled from my mind and right into my lips, I finally stopped the word vomit when Roman told me to shut up.

"There," he said with a nod, "that's much better. Don't worry, it's done now. Sounds to me like you pulled some shit together, even last minute, but if it was memorable, all the better. I told you you'd be alright, kid. Now come on, lets go back to your room. Farah and Cecelia have been done for a while now. Don't look like that, you're done with the test. Tomorrow you've got your interview with Caesar Flickerman, but that's a mere formality."

"You know," I hissed a bit at Roman as he boarded the elevator back to my quarters, "anytime you act like something is no problem, you make me fucking nervous, so cut it out."

He was quiet for a moment, until finally striking the number eight for my floor, but nodded. "Alright, sorry. All I meant to say Herod, is that you're a gamer. I told you that the first time we met. You may not realize it, but you are. You don't have to think everything through. Look at what you did with a knife and some rope. I guarantee none of the other tributes did that. And I like that confidence. I know you feel unsure, but Herod, you've got a much better shot at this than I think you even realize."

Roman's words was making all the hairs on my forearms and at the back of my neck stand on end. It was scarier to actually consider myself a contender, than not. Maybe I hadn't internalized that…or perhaps more appropriately, _got_ that, at my core, until now. He had won. I'd seen him. And now looking at the genuine article face-to-face, I could not help but see that maybe our paths weren't so dissimilar. He'd had some good alliances, I was pretty sure that mine were not going to fall through either; at least not right away. He was so much smarter than I think I ever gave him credit for. I liked that he hadn't said anything else on the remainder of our elevator ride. He was allowing me time to settle down, and let his words sink in. Part of me felt like a wind up toy, but I'd never had trouble with being led through hoops. As long as whatever it was got the results I was looking for, I didn't care.

It was that kind of thinking which separated me from Etcher so distinctly. He was a good person underneath it all. I certainly tried to be. When people met the two of us, I was almost sure they would consider me the nicer of the two. My manners were more at the forefront, I was quieter and more respectful. I thought I was a decent person. I tried, when I could. Trying just separated me from being _bad_. Just, as all these thoughts started swirling around in my head and it felt like it was being baked under a hot lamp, I couldn't help but wonder.

Was trying not to be, the _only_ thing that separated me from being a bad person?

* * *

><p>After what just might've been the best tasting meal I've ever had in my life, I'd eaten a bit too much. Apparently due to the look on my face, Farah smiled over at me.<p>

"Going to pull through?"

"What." I stated as if I didn't already know.

Nearby Cecelia was polite enough to hide a chuckle of hers behind pretending to cough into her napkin, but there really was no need. While there was nothing to dislike about our district's most recent victor, if anything, it could've been that she was a bit too nice. Needlessly so, at times.

"Well I wasn't sure, there," Farah teased me, "I'm sure they can bring you up a turkey…side of beef perhaps?"

Roman was smiling though he half-heartedly came to my rescue with, "So he can eat. Oh it'd be nice to be seventeen again." Cecelia was giving Roman a commiserating expression, but I only managed to shoot my contemporary a vaguely malicious expression. My heart wasn't in it, so I'm sure it came across as goofy more than anything.

I was happy to have what could've well-been my second to last dinner ever, with Farah, Roman, and Cecelia. I couldn't be sure, but I did not believe that all other tributes and their mentors got along as well as the four of us did. There were a few here and there, some of the Careers and their district's previous victors seemed pretty close. Tomorrow night I would have my interview with Caesar Flickerman. I'd be meeting with Avella, and much less exciting, Filo and Ziana once more. As a male, I didn't need to worry too much unless Avella decided she wanted to make a 'statement' with me. Like the Opening Ceremonies, I didn't get any say in this. Prep teams, but stylists especially, ended up having a rather important job. They could sway the populace's, as well as your competitor's opinions about you one way or the other. It was scary to think Avella had that much power, so I tried not to think of it.

After dinner, the four of us adjourned to a plush living area. Soon on television, it would be revealed just what scores the Gamemakers had given us. We had the option to watch in private or not at all, but neither myself nor Farah were weird enough to make such a request.

Roman looked the part of absolute class, having removed his jacket and unbuttoned his sleeves a bit, drinking some whiskey discreetly. He made Cecelia look a little dumpy and provincial by comparison, but some of that might've been the truth. She sat with her prim, plain hairstyle and understated dress drinking something that was mixed, but looked light and maybe a bit frothy.

Farah looked very nice this evening. She wore a simple sweater and pair of pants, but without much makeup and all of her hair out of her eyes, I could really see her. I much preferred _this_ version of Farah, than the one she chose to show to everyone else. Her freckles and thick lips did wonders for her overall demeanor. Maybe that was why she tried so diligently to seem hard and callous. Naturally she had such open, honest features it would be difficult to associate such attributes with her.

"What?" she asked, catching me looking at her a bit longer than I probably ought to have been.

I said, "Nothing. Are you nervous?"

"A little bit."

Cecelia interjected, "Don't you worry, either of you. These scores don't mean anything, really. I think the Capitol just likes to have another thing they can make a big to-do about."

Catching Roman's eye, I remembered what he'd told me. Depending on who you ended up in the arena with, a bad score could prove just as useful as a good one. Honestly I didn't see why us tributes ought to even be privy to such information. I supposed it was because it created even more mind games. Perhaps someone you were assured would be an incredible foe, may post a weak score and therefore lower your expectations. The weak-seeming person, like Lurie might post a good score, and now you had a new contender to concern yourself with.

Farah cleared her throat and said, "Yeah, well I still want to be nervous. I know you guys lived through this, but chances are—we won't. So if I want to be nervous, let me."

Cecelia blinked several times, looking at Farah as I was, but her mouth fell and she quietly turned to her drink. Roman kept his own mouth quiet, a few quickly-dissolving silvers of ice tinkling in his highball glass full of whiskey.

I caught Farah's eye and gave her a small smile of solidarity. Of course we realized that Roman and Cecelia had our best interests at heart, but it can become annoying when your feelings seem to be unsubstantiated. I knew that our mentors weren't doing this consciously, but they might've kept their mouths shut a little more if they stopped to really remember just what it was like. Uncertain, nervous, and scared to death that you were about to die. Such feelings would surely be amplified once I was in arena. Best not to think about that right now.

President Snow, looking manicured and well-mannered as though his skin were stretched over bone, was shown briefly, though it wasn't live, followed by the national seal of Panem. There was the briefest of introductions by some man who may or may not have been the Head Gamemaker. I didn't recognize him as one of the people on the panel from this afternoon. Did the Head Gamemaker even sit in on those meetings?

Not surprisingly, the Careers all posted very good marks. The male tribute from One, and Zayne, the Amazonian girl from Two, and the tallest, longer-haired guy from Two, all posted scores of 10. Tecla from Four ended up posting the least goggling score, with a very respectable 7. I wondered if maybe sex appeal was her best weapon, and that's why she had failed to impress the Gamemakers. Her contemporary, the rat-faced guy whose name had never bothered to stick with me, had a much better showing at getting a 9, same for the strawberry blonde from One. Any seemed deadly enough, didn't they?

I was pleased to see that little Lurie Sampson from District Five had gotten a score of 5. That was nothing to write home about, but it wasn't anything to be too ashamed of, either. Clearly Lurie must've shown the panel _something_ of use, and it couldn't have been her physical prowess. Sometimes looks can be deceiving, but she'd admitted to me that she was concerned because she didn't have any weaponry skills to speak of.

Wren had received an 8 for her troubles. This did not surprise me really, for she was intelligent and capable…not to mention that she was a damned medic. Arko, her partner hadn't disappointed too badly, he'd gotten a 6.

The cute black gal who'd thrown in her lot with the Careers from District Seven, had received a score of 7. Wendell, the long faced kid who seemed to ooze a sense of defeatism, seemed to be the weak spot in their ranks. He'd only received a 3, from the Gamemakers.

Next up was me, I saw my own picture streak across the television screen and then come to a stationary point, just like all the others had. I figured I'd be lucky to score a 6. As it turned out, I'd gotten a very nice 8. An eight! That was the sort of number that meant you might be a real contender, at least if conditions were in your favor. Farah had posted a score of 6, though no one in the room had reacted to our scores, as we all watched the rest of the broadcast.

Knox had received a 9, mirroring the number of his district. He had gotten the highest score of any non-career, and when I pictured him in my mind, that sounded about right. He was at least six feet tall and athletic-looking. Obviously he was packing some other skills, despite his leadership qualities and a urging to stand up against the Careers. Daisy behind him had gotten a 4, which was about average. I think if you took your average, middle of the road citizen of Panem, they'd probably land somewhere in the 3-5 range. I might be wrong on that, but it's how I'd always pictured it.

Apart from Haw landing a 7, and Noah, the kid from District Twelve receiving a 6, anyone else hadn't gotten any score of note.

"Well, no one's." Roman said, and I was thankful that he didn't congratulate me on my score or anything. "In my year there were two kids, both of them guys, who got one's. That guy from Three, he was sandbagging though, must've been, because he was in the final eight."

"No eleven's, or twelve's, either." Cecelia remarked. Apparently none of us tributes had really blown the Gamemakers out of the water. Anything above a 10, was pretty tremendous.

Farah was looking at me in a way that was difficult to read. Was she suddenly viewing me as a new-born threat? An eight wasn't magnificent, but my score was certainly well above average. After a few moments though, she gave me a light smile. "Good job Herod."

Not wishing to linger on this, I quickly spoke my thanks and then turned our focus on a more important fact. "Those Careers are going to be hard to beat. I'm surprised none of them got an eleven, or twelve." I was specifically thinking of the longer haired dude from District Two. All quiet and capable-looking…I just couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to be extremely difficult to take out. The television had told me that his name was Stern. The irony of such an appropriate name from a kid who never seemed to smile or laugh, was lost on me in the wake of my concern. A vision of Stern lopping my head off cleanly with an axe, flitted through my mind.

"Yeah well, you, Knox, and Wren got good scores yourself." Farah said. "Besides, most of us were in the five to seven range, anyway. And there's more _of _us. I think we're going to surprise some people."

I grinned at Farah, liking how she always seemed to come back with a bastion of confidence, when my own was feeling slippery and out of reach. No more visions of Stern from Two killing me in horrifically brutal ways.

"Definitely!" Roman chimed in.

Cecelia nodded, saying, "You're damn right you are. Look at what happened three or four years ago. Like you all are trying for, a bunch of non-Careers banded together, and they trapped them all, and set a fire. Only one or two escaped, and they got picked off soon thereafter. It was incredible."

Everyone else in the room was smiling at Cecelia, not necessarily for what she was saying, though there was that as well. Mainly it was good to see her get a bit more excited and intense than was her norm.

It took my brain a few moments to catch up, and I remembered those Hunger Games. The arena was a collection of indoor sites, like a war-bombed village or gutted out industrial zone. Places like that could be found all over Panem. But I too remembered the fire, and I remembered cheering when the last of the Careers had been killed. Things like that happened rarely. Though the Careers that year, had been none too swift. I couldn't be certain, and again it was likely just my pessimistic streak showing up, but I didn't think _our_ Careers would allow themselves to get trapped like that. I agreed with what Roman had said earlier, about the field being pretty 'serious' as he'd called it. There were a couple of duds, sure, but all-in-all this group of tributes seemed to have a higher average than what was considered usual.

I was to have a late night meeting with Avella about what I would be wearing tomorrow for my interview. Scheduled for nine o'clock, it was the latest thing that was inked in for a meeting since I'd arrived here. As it turned out, it wasn't anything too intense or spectacular. Avella had asked me a few questions here and there, seemingly unrelated to fashion. I was not too concerned what she might dress me in. As long as she didn't make me look like a complete moron, I guess I didn't much care. In a lot of ways this 'ensemble' might be more important than the one from the Opening Ceremonies. But with the looming of the actual Arena, capital A, now less than 48 hours away, I couldn't muster enough energy to care what I was wearing during my interview.

As I began shedding my clothing and getting comfortable in my bed, I realized that the day had come and gone without any new big epiphany. I wasn't sure just what I expected, but with just one more full day until the Hunger Games, I had expected something. I'd received an eight with the Gamemakers. That was definitely something. Couldn't have hoped for anything better, really. It made me feel good, but I also knew that if any of the Careers were uncertain as to if I was a person to maybe watch out for, now they had their answer.

Did this mean that after they dispatched Knox, they'd come after Wren and myself next? I suppose if it happened, then it motherfucking happened. What the hell could I do about it? All of a sudden I was overwhelmed with this feeling that thinking about all of this crap was useless. Roman had alluded to it, even Cecelia had. It was so very hard for a person like me to just let things unfold as they did. Especially when my life was on the line. But there was no new information that I could really use to my advantage, was there?

Tecla had only gotten a seven from the Gamemakers, so that did surprise me a bit, but not tremendously. While very pretty, she ran her mouth a lot. This was unlike the strawberry blonde from District One whose name I was almost certain began with a J, but currently escaped me. It wasn't always the case with guys, but I found that even under far more _normal_ circumstances, if a girl was talking big, she probably didn't have a lot of back it up. Now seven was a very respectable score. It just was not so great when compared to the other Careers.

I was having trouble sleeping, and of course the more I concentrated on trying to fall asleep, the more impossible it was becoming. I wasn't even worried about my interview with Caesar. Logically I knew that based on my talk with him, Roman may or may not be able to secure me those all-important sponsors. Still it was difficult to imagine that what I said to some guy, even if it was televised in all of the districts, could be half as important as my performance in the Arena.

Thinking about Mom and Dad, I wildly groped around for my father's ring on my beside table. There in the near darkness, I felt it and relaxed. It has been a ring given to him by the Peacekeepers, for his service and subsequent retirement. It was easy for me to separate the two, the Capitol, and the Peacekeepers, because of Dad. I was able to see that all they were really doing, was their job. A very steady paycheck that couldn't be gained in practically any other way unless you possessed some real talent. In actuality there were plenty of people across Panem who were talented. The problem came in that the Capitol needed to _agree_ that they were talented. You'd have a hard time getting paid doing much of anything, if those richer than yourself didn't also deem you as useful or with talent.

It felt stupid and childish, but I slipped the heavy ring over my middle finger on my right hand. Dad had bigger hands and fingers than I, but on that finger it fit very well. In some clinging way, it made me feel close to him and the rest of my family. As though maybe I wouldn't have my brains painted across the ground, or my throat emptied in just over 24 hours. Jarvis had told me that my token could be returned to whomever I liked, barring that it was not destroyed and able to be found. At least my token was durable, and once I was dead, Dad would get his ring back.

Shit. I needed to quit thinking like that. All this time in my capitol, I'd been playing hopscotch between confidence and despair. It was difficult to imagine that any of the others, except for maybe the Careers, could've been any different. The only person I'd met that I could truly envision waffling quite as much as me, torn like I was, would've been Wren. She seemed smarter than Farah, were I to compare the two. Prettier too, but that really had nothing to do with the current situation. Perhaps Wendell from Seven, who'd been suckered into an alliance with seven more powerful Careers than himself; he might've been as flip flopping as I was.

He and the girl from Seven weren't technically Careers, I didn't think they'd volunteered, at least definitely not Wendell. Still Knox and everyone else on my team, so to speak, had branded them as Careers. If they were going to act like them, then why the hell not? So he might've been on example…or Kenna from Twelve.

Kenna, _that_ was her damned name! With those green eyes that seemed too brightly colored to be human. I knew Farah's yellowish cat eyes were indeed her actual eye color, but with Kenna, it seemed unlikely. Equally unlikely, however, was how a girl from District Twelve, poorest of them all, could've afforded colored lenses. I'd barely spoken a dozen words to Kenna, but she always seemed anxious and in a heightened sense of stress. If she was going to be _that _nervous, maybe it'd be better for her if she were to just have a heart-attack or aneurysm before the Games, and spare herself. I couldn't think like that, however. That would make me question why I couldn't wish for the same thing, my name in place of hers.

Dyne told me I was so much stronger than she was. While somewhere I'd always known this consciously somewhere far off, having my sister admit it to me was something else. Etcher had told me not to take everything so seriously. Sounded like advice that Etch might give, but even if I knew I was smarter than him in a lot of ways, he knew me at my core probably better than I did him. Mom had told me she knew I could do it. _Knew _I could. Under normal circumstances that may have just sounded like a mother wishing her son good luck. My mother was very down to earth though, more practical than anyone in my family.

Rolling over, I peeked around the corner from my overly plush pillow to discover it was 2:42 am. That's all? Somehow I imagined it must've been closer to four or five in the morning. The phone in my room could only be used to dial for assistance, in whatever way I may need it, or to Roman. Surely he was asleep at this hour, and I quickly talked myself out of bothering him.

I'd received an eight from the Gamekeepers. Had they actually bought into that phony shit involving the knife and the rope? I'd gotten damn lucky I didn't cut anyone including me or made a complete ass of myself. Maybe it was my shooting the target. Were there even going to be any guns in the Arena? If there were to be any, surely they'd be in very short supply indeed. For my own safety I would have felt the best with a gun in my hand, but wishing that one would even be made available was probably a pipedream.

Thinking on my girlfriends, the two I'd slept with, and the two that I hadn't. I realized just how empty and hollow those relationships had been. My romantic prowess was undeveloped I was sure, but I was not in-fact, a virgin. Still those girls had been fun to hang around at the time, but now that I thought of it, I didn't love any of them did I? Nah…not really. Still any one of them would've done right now, to get my mind off the approaching games. Not even for sex, but just to talk with. Someone who had nothing to do with these Hunger Games whatsoever, that I could laugh with. There was no such animal in this world of the Capitol, however. Even the wait staff here in the tower, though impeccable and prompt with their service, couldn't escape. They'd said things like, '_good luck_', or worse, '_may the odds be ever in your favor_'. Better than them, were the Avoxes; the weirdos that couldn't talk.

I'm sure they were being punished for crimes that they probably didn't commit, in servitude for reasons that were laughable. Still I just didn't have enough room in my heart to feel sorry for the Avoxes right now. I was far too concerned being sorry for myself, and my fellow tributes.

Herod Telfin, District Eight who had received a matching eight in the Gamemakers' assessment. Nice, but certainly not too nice. People like Cynthia from Ten, or Noah from Twelve; they were too nice. It is hard to hate people like that, but how many truly nice tributes turn victor? Look at Cecelia from my district. She was far nicer than the average victor, but she had been extremely careful and shrewd on her path to winning.

Accidents and stupid blind luck happen in the Hunger Games, though very rarely. Even then, a lucky event might allow you to evade death, or deliver it, but it almost never could be relied upon to ensure you a victory. It probably ties in to why I never could allow myself to believe in God. If some being did exist up in outer space somewhere, or anywhere for that matter who presided over our world, how could they let such terrible things happen? Some very tiny part of me wondered, but it was safer to squash that notion and deem that we all make our own luck, or own destiny. No one has a plan for anyone or anything.

I had to make my own plan, and follow it through to the best of my ability. No…I needed to quit thinking about all of this. Flipping my pillow over, I closed my eyes and began to think about my coiling machine at work. How the sliver sprayed out in that loose forming way, spinning and looping around and around, making a cylinder of material.

Maybe we were all machines like that. Doing what was expected of us, because there wasn't anything else for us to do. Even if it might have seemed like we tributes had all these opportunities and options to weigh, we really didn't. It was just like the coiler. Our parts moving in unison to produce a product that we had been made for. Sick as it was, that product for us tributes, was entertainment.

Etcher's advice had come spilling back into my head as I thought of sliver, threads, string, yarn, and fabric. He had told me, _It's sick and it's royally fucked, but the Capitol just wants to see a good show. Don't forget that you are playing a game, Herod._

I was usually pretty good at games, when I had the opportunity to play them. I was a quick learner, and I enjoyed them just as much whether I won or lost. Obviously that couldn't be said for this game.

In the most tragic sense of the phrase, _this one_, was for keeps.


	6. Lights, Camera

"Alright, so they're all about fairness this year," Roman says statically, for surely the look I tossed to him made it very apparent I didn't find these Hunger Games _fair_, in the slightest. "Usually, you know the districts go for their interviews sequentially, but every so often the Capitol gets a bug up their ass, and decide to change things around."

"So what," I say, "I'm first?"

"No, I mean chances are, not. I have no way of knowing. You'll be called out onto the stage one at a time. Could be first, could be last. They've decided to still have the male tribute from each district followed by the female, but instead of District One, District Two, and so on, they're randomizing it." Roman clearly believed this was needless, it was written all across his face.

"But it's an advantage to go first. Then you hear what everyone else has to say, right?"

"See," he smiles at me in that knowing way of his, "Smart boy. Unless you're the type to intimidate easily. Just another way the Careers get the damned advantage. Getting to listen to the districts under us, usually isn't useful. It'd be better to hear what the Careers have to say, but by the time Eight comes around, they're all done."

"Yeah well, life fucking sucks." I spit, though in a good natured manner as I chuckle a little, happy to hear Roman joining in. As I sit there in this holding tank, there I can listen to music, read a book…even play a video game. But I cannot watch television to listen in on what's happening with the other tributes. Surely by now Caesar Flickerman must have been into the actual interviews.

I glance down at what I'm wearing. Avella decided to keep it relatively simple once more, but to me…she's missed the mark once again. I have on a pair of comfortable black slacks, a long-sleeved black shirt, though my sleeves have bee rolled back around my elbows, exposing my forearms. A sharp looking tie hung sloppily around my neck. I like the tie quite a lot, actually. Avella loosened it from my collar, unbuttoning my shirt a bit too. My tie hangs lackadaisically down, about three or four inches from where it ought to be tightly cinched against my neck. She ordered me a haircut, and while I liked the way it looked when they were done, Avella wanted my hair messed up a little _too_ much, I think.

The whole effect made me look casual, calm. But perhaps disrespectful at the same time. I didn't need the Capitol getting any itchy trigger fingers in the Arena, just because my damned stylist was going for an 'effect'. Avella was a perfectly friendly, easy to talk to woman. She was beautiful, too, not at all crazy like Filo and Ziana, my prep team. I guess like with most things, you can't get everything. Perhaps Avella would be crazy, demanding, rude, or all three, if she were a better stylist. In my opinion she was nothing too spectacular. I had asked Roman what _he_ thought, being more in the business of fashion.

I'd fully expected him to agree with me, but instead my mentor had told me that I might be surprised just how sharp I did look. What a traitor. I looked sloppy and a bit unkempt. Yes my teeth were sparkling white, my body plucked and pinched and altered until it was precisely what the Capitol wanted it to be. I actually did like the simple pattern on my tie, and I found myself fingering the silk material absent-mindedly as some music heavy on the guitars, plays in the background. I didn't much care what was playing, so Roman had selected something for us.

"Need any water or anything?" he inquires. I can tell that behind his eyes, he is nervous and looking a bit stressed out. For the first time I can see behind the façade of Roman Furyk, looking all spit, polished, and shined as if he belonged here in the Capitol, and not District Eight.

"No, I think if I drink any more, I might have to pee or something. Don't want to be antsy on stage." I proclaim, as if it were a choice. Roman thankfully ignores my boast, and goes to fetch himself a bottle of water. Tonight was some seriously heavy shit, and tomorrow were began the Games. There wasn't any more time to train, to second guess, or to worry. Hopefully I had done enough of that already for five people.

"Can Farah come in here, then? You're good company and all…" I begin, but Roman stops me.

"Sure, let me check, I'll be right back." He says, and has departed from the small, but comfortably appointed room before I can even get another word out.

Now I can listen to the music more clearly. It's rock music, though this melody was more easy-going than the last couple. I'd never heard it before, but outside of the Capitol and the Upper Districts, most people in Panem did not have access to many kinds of professional music. I thought I detected some violin amongst the guitars, vocals, and drums but I couldn't be certain. My thoughts were scattered, like light through a kaleidoscope. I needed to be calm, friendly, charming, and be sure to laugh when necessary. I knew Caesar Flickerman from the yearly interviews. He didn't seem like a bad guy, particularly, but that didn't make his interviews any less important.

It did seem like it was taking Roman an inordinate amount of time to return with Farah. Was there some kind of problem? Better to try and guess what that might be, than allow my nerves to get the best of me. Listening to the music in the empty room, my mind becomes a vacuum and I am thankful for it.

There is a clock in this room, and I see that not only is it now quarter-to-eight, but this also means that Roman has been gone for close to ten minutes. What, did he fall down and needed assistance? I knew full-well that those guards would still be stationed outside of my room, and I wouldn't be allowed to go anywhere.

Finally the door opens, and I see Roman, red-faced and looking marginally harassed. "She thinks she'll get more nervous if she talks to you first. Sorry about that."

I could tell there was something else to that story. Either with Farah and Cecelia, or something that didn't have to do with either of them, but had happened to Roman since he'd gone missing.

"They've already done eight or nine districts, though. I know you wanted to be one of the first, but no such luck," he tells me, a genuine frown echoing it.

I say with a grumble, "That figures. Bet the people who went early, might've wanted to go late. There's a word for that, but I can't seem to remember it. When whatever can go wrong, probably will." Roman lack of any answer whatsoever told me that I might've been just over-thinking and he didn't want to give into that whatsoever.

"They want me somewhere else." Roman announced, looking at me as evenly as possible. "Probably means you will be coming up soon enough. Remember to be yourself, and if Flickerman wants to play around with you a bit, let him. Sponsors like tributes that are memorable or likable. Both if at all possible, but it's going to be rough going if you aren't one or the other."

I appreciate that Roman speaks so openly to me. He must have known by now that I like having things told to me straight. When you dumb it down, or try to soften the blow, that annoys me more greatly than if you'd have just been out with the bad news from the start. He heads for the door.

"Aren't going to wish me good luck?" I ask a bit pathetically. I'm really not that nervous, but there's a strong feeling in my gut that once Roman is gone and there's nothing left for me but the music and my thoughts, I might get there rather fast.

He does a quick shake of his head, looking serious. "You don't need it. I'll see you later after it's over."

Roman leaves me there, and I feel like jumping up to my feet, but make a conscious effort not to. Instead I sink down into the chair, and allow the music to play. No softer, no louder. This next one is more up tempo than the last couple and I find myself keeping beat with a tapping of my foot, or bobbing of my head. I like this kind of music, so does my Dad, and Tena. It was odd that my outspoken and at times outrageous friend Etcher, liked slower, softer music. It certainly didn't fit his personality that much was unquestioned.

The door to my room flies open, and some pretty but over-processed looking woman with a digitized clipboard and shocking purple hair, flanked by a bald man in glasses who is dressed nicely, and a man in a ponytail with a streak of it dyed the shade of yellow you might find in a box of crayons, descend upon me.

At first I feel assaulted like Filo and Ziana might've sent for some friends, until I realize they're simply standing me up, brushing my suit to ensure it looked nice, and started throwing me in the direction of the door. The two men chatter like birds back and forth, funny because neither of them have particularly high voices, as they flank me while Purple Hair is walking speedily, but backward, smiling at me.

"You look great." She tells me, "Avella knows when not to do too much, that's the most important part of _being_ a stylist!"

"Um…thanks."

Purple Hair comes across as flighty and scatterbrained, so if she seems that way—surely she _is_. "Ok, we're just going to head up this way now," she beckons me with manicured nails as he hop up a short flight of stairs, and down what might just be the longest hallway I've ever been in my entire life. "Caesar can ask whatever he wants, but feel free to answer however _you_ want. It's all about give and take," she prattles on.

I discover that we aren't to walk the entire length of the hallway, a little over halfway, a pair of double doors is opened and we enter another hallway, except this one is covered with something manmade. I can hear the roar of a crowd, I can see a myriad of lights throwing patterns over the drop cloth type apparatus which covers this walkway. The men who'd been constantly talking behind me, now linger near the double doors, while Purple Hair walks further. I see that she's wearing some extremely vicious-looking heels, but I couldn't hear them because of my heartbeat in my ears, and the low hum of what I knew had to be tons and tons of people, once I got to the end of this walkway.

"You're gonna be great!" Purple Hair practically giggles out at me, and then she stops moving. This is what really strikes me, as I shuffle forward, I realize that it's all the further she is going to go.

Just beyond the veil at the end of the walkway, I can see lots of bright lights, standing out against the black portions of moving bodies, disquiet and excited. Like the crowd waiting for the next gladiator, or perhaps I was more like the next victim?

* * *

><p>My heart is in my throat, Goosebumps have erupted over what feels like every inch of my body, as I am dizzied, emerging from the covered walkway.<p>

The stage is massive, and I'm only vaguely aware of what looks like a line of people seated back, but now smiling and moving his hand out, as if to accept me, is Caesar Flickerman. He's dressed all in white, his face painted in a grayish white mask, wearing a…was it even a wig, or was it his real hair? Ringlets with a pompadour, he looks like someone who might hold court with Louis XVI. There is a lot of gold, silver, and white on his overdone outfit, but he is giving me a big smile and I manage a small one myself. I finally realize he is saying my name, but what bites at me from the inside out, clinging to my spinal column, is the applause.

It's near deafening as I wander, semi-stunned, until Caesar is good enough to instruct me with a showing of his hand, where I ought to sit down. In my peripheral vision I could see my own face on a gigantic television screen nearby. All those people lined up, were my fellow tributes, but none of their faces, not even their outfits were distinguishable. They were a blur of color and subtle movement, in the circus that was erupting around me.

Although apparently my ass was in the chair, because I no longer needed the use of my legs, you could've told me my hair was on fire and I probably wouldn't have felt it in that moment. The lights weren't directly in my face, and I could make out some of the teeming throngs of people all cheering and whispering, shouting and talking, until their ruckus began to thin out, and die down.

Caesar smiled at me, beating air to his face with a tightly-wound lacey fan. This close I could see some of his makeup was wanting to run under all these lights for such a prolonged period of time. For now, he was winning the battle, his over-the-top ensemble and makeup still in tact. His outfit that I'd thought was white, was in-fact not, but rather some shade of blue. His hair was powdery white, as though it had been thoroughly caked in flour.

That's right…every year his hair is a different color. White this year? Did he expect our games to be pure, and clean? Non-atheists might say something like, _God lets hope so_. I wasn't lucky enough to afford myself such a phrase.

"Now Herod, it's so good of you to join us tonight." Caesar is saying, though of course it isn't as though myself…or any of us except the Careers, had a choice in the matter.

"You look very nice this evening, Mister Flickerman." I hear myself say, though I don't recall actually forming the synapses in my brain to come up with such a comment. Nor am I even aware of what I am saying before it's out there. Captured on film, belonging to the ages.

He laughs, "Oh thank you. _This old thing_," he says nonchalantly, "Probably because you can't see all tape and glue, or the girdle." The audience explodes into laughter.

Caesar continues, "But how kind of you to say that. Now, what about you, hmm? You're looking very dapper this evening, my good man."

My jaw clenches and I'm sure I must be turning a little red. Not because of his compliment, but because of the hysterical screaming coming from a few of the audience members. They sounded like girls, but who the hell knew.

"Oh yes, Avella's design. Pretty alright, huh?" I ask as I turn to look down my rolled up sleeves, and ensemble that is jet black, except for the snazzy, loosened tie which hangs haphazardly down from where it ought to be. "I'm not much into fashion myself."

"Oh but you do wear it _well_, Herod. Besides, surely coming from District Eight, you must know a thing or two about clothing?"

My brain swims for an answer and I start to think this whole interview is going to crash down around my ears before it's even begun. Just tell the truth. "I work in a factory, yes, we make all sorts of cotton there. My job is to watch the coiling machine."

"Oh really? So you _do_ know a thing or two about the fashion world."

I laugh genuinely, "Oh no…maybe just the bowels of it. What I'm wearing know I'm sure is worth more than everything I've got in my closet back home."

The crowd is laughing and talking at my comment, but not whispering in a suspicious way which might indicate that I've sad something horrifically off-color or wrong. Inwardly I just keep telling myself to not even think. Just respond.

"You said coiling machine. Sounds interesting…though I admit, it's hard to envision a young man like you, working in a dusty old factory."

I blink and don't go with my gut on this question. "Trust me, it isn't. I could explain how it works, but I think I might put you to sleep, to tell you the truth, Mister Flickerman. It's difficult enough not nodding off while I'm working the dang thing." I was going to say something else, but my mouth was starved for saliva so I closed it. Fortunately Caesar was already talking again, while this excitement-addled crowd bust a gut at what was just a little observation of mine, hardly a knee-slapper.

Caesar grins at me, and it was a bit unnerving because while he wasn't a bad looking guy really, with all that makeup on and his mouth turned up, it was a bit like watching a heavily perfumed, slightly crazed clown. "A nice cotton is to die for, I have to say. Still I'm more partial to other types of blends. Cotton tends to show off all my imperfections."

The crowd was eating right out of his hand, their communal disapproval obviously meant to suggest that Caesar Flickerman had no imperfections.

"Very soft though," I hear myself say, as I begin to almost watch myself from above, as if I were dreaming. "Comfortable, too."

"Speaking of comfortable, you seem right at home up here, and relaxed in that sharp suit of yours. I get the impression you're a good boy," then he gives the audience a languid wink, "but not _too_ good, methinks."

Embarrassed, my nostrils widen as I intake lots of air and try to let such a comment lay flat and unattended to. What was making it difficult was the fact that the crowd, flanked by camera crews, were all screaming and shouting in what seemed to be an unbridled outpouring just for me. One girl's shriek was so loud it almost caused me to turn my head as it rolled and reverberated like a dying animal of some sort, above all symphony of noise.

"Come now, no need to get embarrassed Herod. Is there a young lady back in District Eight who might have every reason in the world to be jealous of such attention?"

I thought maybe the crowd would shut the hell up, but still people were shouting.

"Um, no. I've had a girlfriend or two, but nothing too serious. I'm not seeing anyone, if that's what you mean."

Caesar bit down on his lower lip and turned away from me, flashing them what I perceived to be an almost lascivious little grin. "Hear that ladies?" He fanned himself repeatedly now. "So you're an eligible young bachelor."

Now there was screaming once again. A small little creature had deposited itself in my stomach, and was making itself at home. As unnerving as all the applause and shouting was…the unfiltered screaming of a few of the audience members, was a little intoxicating. Such screams I really wasn't prepared for, and I find my jaw unhinging and there was a smile on my face that I really hadn't meant to put there.

"I suppose so." I manage, clearing my throat helplessly, wanting him to go to any other topic under the sun.

"Any tips, secrets, you might want to let us in on about what you've got planned for the Games? You posted a very strong score with our Gamemakers." His voice lollops out, even as it turned up at the end like most Capitol people's had a tendency to do.

"I think I'm going to go for luck, Caesar. Don't you find it's not appreciated enough? Everyone always going on about what they can or can't do. I think I'll just leave it up to fate. Sometimes you have to say 'What the Hell'. Unfortunately I won't be able to go out in a shower of your glowing compliments. Feel free to use them on my corpse though, if need be. I promise I won't bite." Where that repartee came from, I'll never know. I suspect it might be a little too cynical and sarcastic, and viewed as underhanded and crass. As the crowd is quiet a moment or two, I fully expect that I might be escorted quickly to my seat, or even picked off by a Peacekeeper somewhere.

Caesar was laughing pretty hard. That last comment about my corpse not biting seemed to have tickled his fancy; either that, or he was a terrific actor. "So clever, Herod…such a quick sense of humor. You flatter me. I'm simply saying what we're all thinking. My…you've left me at a loss for words, and everyone knows how often _that_ happens!" More long guffaws from the crowd as people are clapping and shouting, even a trill whistle or two slice through the air and disperse around the City Circle.

"Surely you've got a lovely family. An incisive wit like that doesn't develop overnight." He says to the audience really more than he does to me.

"Yeah." And once I think of Mom, Dad, Dyne, all of the fun is sucked from my lungs and it just might be showing on my face. I manage to remind myself of this and evoke a forced smile. "I do love my father, mother, and my sister very much. I'm very lucky." Lucky to have _them_…not to be here, I think to myself.

A buzzer goes off, and Caesar is positively beaming at me. "And we are so very lucky to have had this time to get to know you better, Herod! We wish you the best of luck out there, don't we?" The crowd begins whistling and clapping.

As I slowly rise from my seat, I feel more lightheaded that I think I may have ever been in my entire life. I might've actually swayed a bit, I couldn't be sure. Fortunately I was shown toward my seat, as I hear Caesar yell, "Herod Telfin, from District Eight!"

The cacophony fills up the entire City Circle, and I can do nothing but imbibe it as I all but fall into my chair on the dais. The person sitting now immediately to my right, was Bells. The thirteen year old redhead from District Three, whose hair had fallen in shockingly thick, bright waves and crests all around her face. She was wearing something glitzy in colors of dark grays, blacks, and a few streaks of gold that matched her high heeled shoes. With her hair down like that, Bells could've easily passed for sixteen. She was good enough to give me a soft smile as I sat down.

"You did good." Bells whispers at me, though mainly I realize this through lip-reading, for the crowd had erupted once again in thick cheers, drowning everything else out. I see Farah Gilderling take center stage, and I could not help myself from goggling.

With her hair swept mainly back off her face, her trademark bangs fall in pointed, thick slices across her face. I can see the television screens zoom in on her that were out in the square. Her lips are glossy, but dark…either black or a burgundy color. Heading down, she was in a tight-fitting asymmetrical dress, a black one which hugged her curves just right. Because she didn't have a very large chest, much of the flesh there was exposed, forcing one's eyes to play ping pong down the length of her torso. The dress fell around her knees and thighs, for it was cut at different lengths, and displayed a pair of nice looking legs, terminating in pin heels.

Black gloves ended just behind her knuckles on both hands. There didn't seem to be an jewelry to distract from the eye popping dress she, thin as she was, had been squeezed into. I thought she might've been wearing earrings, but I couldn't be sure at all. Something glittered in her hair, but whatever it was didn't obscure the severe bangs and intenseness of her hairstyling whatsoever. It was an afterthought, whatever the hell it might've been.

With the crowd gasping and then shouting and clapping, Caesar Flickerman dramatically almost fell up to his feet with a punchy, "Oh my _word!_ _Look _at you, my dear!" Caesar fawned over her ensemble, and I could sense Bells next to me scooting up in her chair, drinking in every inch of it as well. As Caesar took one of Farah's half-gloved hands and showed her like a gentleman ought to, to her chair, I found myself staring at the stage flooring.

Whereas I left most everything up to chance with my interview, it seemed that Farah had rehearsed potential answers and replied to Caesar's questions quickly, though she never ignored any of in inquiries. A lot of her interview was eaten up with them speaking about her stylist and dress selection. This was to her advantage I figured, because by the time Caesar realized their time would be running out, he didn't have time to needle her with any questions about the games themselves, or her strategy. Having received a six from the Gamemakers, surely Farah must've shown them something that could've been considered useful. I joined in with clapping for my fellow district-mate as she came over to her appropriate chair, and my eyes followed her as she sat down.

As the crowd in the City Circle began opening up a new bastion of applause for the black kid from District Eleven, Farah gives me the briefest of smiles.

"How'd I come across?" I barely hear her say to me.

"Just fine." I reply, certainly cognizant of keeping my eyes north of her neckline.

It would appear that the District's interview order had indeed been randomized like Roman had told me, but apparently District Eleven landed in the same spot regardless. The boy named Pord from Eleven took his seat on the other side of Farah to a milder applause than either she or I had received. When the girl from Eleven who'd had those bad scars all over her face due to what I could only assume was acne took the stage, I was settling in against the lineup of my fellow competitors.

The dishwater blonde from Eleven had never looked better, to tell you the truth. Her stylist and prep team had been liberal with the makeup, and with her hair's unattractive slightly dingy natural shade, they'd pulled it up and even added a streak of color. While her accent was very detectable and Caesar pointed it out to her, she made a very clever crack about it and got all of the audience laughing. I even heard Farah chuckle, and reminded myself to follow suit. Given this girl's scores, she really didn't have a lot going for her, but at least she'd managed to be engaging. Far more than Pord, who whether on stage or behind it, had the personality of warmed up cardboard.

"You look very pretty." I managed to pay the compliment to Farah as the noise of the crowd died down a bit, and she'd flashed me what I was sure was a genuine, almost toothy smile behind those thick lips of hers.

"Don't look bad yourself. Like your tie." Farah remarks, and I notice her eyes drop to my mouth. It was likely because she was checking to see if she could read my lips if necessary. Still under the circumstances, I felt an odd spring of something bounce around in my gut. Fortunately I was able to turn away and see the last district being introduced. Realizing that the cameras were still on me was a very powerful measure for me not to step one toe out of line.

It was retarded to think that Farah was looking at me for any reason other than to read my lips, wasn't it?

Motum Jeong was from District Five, and filled out his clothing fine as he'd bothered to shake Caesar Flickerman's hand. A bit formal, but once Motum got talking, his truer nature shone through with ease. Easy going, he reels off cracks about himself, a few well-placed nudges toward the Capitol, and at this entire process with ease. I could see why Farah would be impressed with Motum, he not only was to be our ally, but he was very likeable. Damn that was yet another person I didn't want to see die in the Arena. Even if it wasn't by my hand, chances were, the crop-haired was going to die.

Motum was still smiling as his almond-shaped eyes roved down the string of his competitors, marching from Bells, to me, Farah, and so on. He all but fell back into his chair, giving off a very audible sigh of relief in doing so. I really wanted to turn and flash him a smile or something, but it didn't seem appropriate. Instead my eyes were being drawn to the very last of the twenty-four tributes.

I discovered Lurie's last name was Sampson, and I was happy when Caesar had called her cute. It wasn't a lie or anything, but I certainly did not want anyone killing Lurie too soon. She was a sweet-hearted girl…even with blonde hair and blue eyes. It's hard to get more innocent in the looks department, than her. Additionally she spoke a lot about her older brother and younger sister. Lurie was not very demonstrative, I knew this myself from the interactions I'd had with her. Still Caesar was very good at his job, and got Lurie to laugh—no more like giggle—something about him starting to melt under these lights.

I stand when it was time for me to, and I join in the applause for my fellow tributes, and though I was sure Farah was doing so under even more duress than myself, I clapped for Panem.

The head Gamemaker, who I recognized as the quietest of the lot during my interview with them yesterday, had yelled, "Good luck to all of our tributes, in the 63rd Annual Hunger Games!"

Confetti sprays out of cannons, shimmering over the crowd mad with excitement, and a bit over us as well. The City Circle is aglow with lights. As some of our fellow tributes had, I latch onto Farah's gloved hand, and take my small bow alongside her. By the sound of it, we are among the more favored…though at least one or two people much closer to the start of the line got cheers I was relatively sure we even larger than ours.

Once all the clapping begins to die down, once Caesar Flickerman's mood definitely changes a little as he's obviously no longer on camera, I look around myself wondering what to do next. Farah seems locked into her chair, looking more or less straight ahead. People seem to materialize out of nowhere, and some of my fellow tributes rise from their chairs, looking at one another or at the escorts waiting to lead us back inside the training center and housing tower.

I rise up before Farah does, and I turn to give her an expectant expression. She volleys back a rather static look. I'm confident that something is bothering her, but that it isn't me. Eventually we rise up, and I manage to smile at Motum as he shoots the pair of us a small grin. I haven't spoken with the guy from Five too much, but it was clear that he was cheerful and friendly.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not-so-surprisingly, no one is really speaking to anyone except for a couple of Careers whispering to their district-mates.

Just as I decide that's it…and we can disperse however we like, all twelve of the district's escorts decide to show themselves. Jarvis gives us a perfunctory smile and a soft nod. Long story short, we're back in Farah's room, just the three of us. As to why Jarvis would've selected hers over mine was beyond me. Seemed a little bit of a private setting for our escort, but he was with us none the less.

"The Hunger Games are slated to begin at 1:10, tomorrow afternoon. You'll be needed a couple of hours before this, to get up, eat, speak with your mentors, and get dressed. The gear you chose to wear has been approved, as you know. None of you will be provided with clothing that gives you any distinct advantages over someone else. It is now," he glances at his watch, "Twenty past nine. Your mentors should be giving you a call shortly. Do either of you have any questions for me?"

I blink, confused as to just what might be going on. Surely the confusion showed plainly on my face.

"Don't think so. It's been a slice." Farah says coolly to Jarvis, tossing her head and purposely focusing elsewhere in the room. I knew she certainly had that sort of attitude in her, but I couldn't believe she'd be like that to Jarvis. If anything he'd been very professional and accommodating.

"Very well." He nodded to me, graciously not looking at Farah any longer. "Herod, Farah, good luck. Good evening to the both of you." His departure was speedy, and nearly noiseless.

I stand there, feeling odd in the foyer of Farah's lavish quarters. Mine are equally comfortable, but they're mine. Here I am an intruder, forced to be one by Jarvis. Now that he's gone, and Farah's mood seemed to have taken a nose dive, I wonder if I ought to just leave myself?

"I'm sorry." I hear her say, and then I turn to her. Farah's freckled cheeks look a bit rosy, and she whips back her bangs and I was relatively sure she'd been crying, or trying hard not to. "It's just, it's pretty hard to take dying, in stride you know?"

"Yeah, I do."

Quickly she wipes at her eyes and makes a clearing noise in her throat. "I hate crying. Makes me seem like such a girl."

"But you are a girl." I find myself saying, laced with a lot more compassion than I'd even realized.

Those yellowy eyes of hers stare at me for a few long moments, she seated in one of the chairs in her foyer as I remain standing. A silence settles in, and it isn't uncomfortable really. What is making me a bit shifty, is the fact that I am alone in Farah's room, and she's just looking at me as though I were supposed to say something or do something.

"Do you want me to go?" I try.

"I don't know." She replies and looks more fragile than I'm certain I have ever seen her. "We don't really have much time left. What…fifteen or so hours?"

I beg her, "Please don't tell me how many hours we've got left. Cecelia will be calling soon, I guess I'd better return to my room, in case Roman is trying to get me." This was absolutely the truth, but I'd also asked her if she wanted me to stay. That non-committal answer of hers made me wish I'd never asked at all. It was surprising how her provocative attire barely phased me at the moment. Right now she is so hard to read, and it's killing me because in the short time we've been together, I've really grown to care about Farah as a person…even a friend. Sure it would all be for naught, perhaps as early as tomorrow afternoon. I wish she would just tell me what she wanted.

In so many ways I know that I can be brave, stupidly so. Right now I am a coward. I need to give her a hug, say something encouraging, but instead I just stand there like a fool, waiting for her to release me, or ask me to remain.

"You're right Herod, go. I'll see you tomorrow." Farah smiles at me, and it seems genuine. Perhaps a little forced, but that can be easily explained away by the fact that something has obviously got her down. After rising on her heels, she shakes her head a little. Apparently my concern must be self-evident. "I'll be alright. You and I both need our sleep for tomorrow." She hugs me lightly, and I find myself hugging her back a little more tightly than she might've wanted.

Standing in her doorway, I slip my tie off my neck, and hand it to her. "Here, you said you liked it."

Holding my tie, she gives a whisper of a little smile, and I can't help but feel like her boyfriend dropping her off for evening. The only kiss we'd shared was one she planted on my cheek, but it was pretty obvious that I cared about her, and she about me.

"Thanks. You're a good guy." She says softly, as if knowing it was precisely what I needed to hear, or something. "Get some sleep and I will too. I'll see you tomorrow Herod."

"Good night." I say and after half-turning, I hear her door close. Crossing the hallway and down a ways to my own quarters, I have a very queer feeling in my stomach. No…now wasn't the time to concern myself too much with Farah. Yeah, if we could live through this, I don't know how I'd feel about her. That can never be, however, so why worry? It was not as though I loved her and wanted to propose. Still, there was a bond that connected us and it was much stronger than I ever would've guessed it to be.

Within the confines of my room, I practically rip the clothing that Avella had designed for me off my body. I leave it in a wrinkled, soon to be crumpled mess on the floor, and I go to the food conveyance and ask for mashed potatoes with plenty of butter, and chocolate milk. Might not be a pairing that would sound particularly delicious under normal circumstances, but I chug the milk, and instantly ask for more. The potatoes have the skins left on, and are delicious. I have no earthly idea how the food machine would've known I'd like the skins left on…but right now I didn't care.

Against my better judgment, I veg out in front of the television, and watch the replay of Caesar's interviews. I suspect that many of my competitors might be doing the same exact thing. It would be smarter, in many ways, to get some much needed rest. But I have never been good at handling my curiosity. Not to mention the fact that, after seeing the interviews, I feel I have a better read on just who I'll be in the Arena with. There isn't anything particularly that I feel I can use, really, but it makes me feel better.

Zayne from Two, showed herself to have a surprisingly good sense of humor. The rat-faced guy from District Four was named Imurus, but he tells Caesar to call him 'Im'. He isn't fidgety at all on stage and I wonder if he might be a stone-cold killer, despite his less than imposing physicality. Imurus is taller than me, but that isn't saying an awful lot. I still feel like I could kick his ass if we went to grappling. He makes a few off-color jokes with Caesar, and the crowd laughs—too bad they didn't take offense and boo. Obviously Imurus is the class clown of the Careers. Briefly I think on how I can use this to my advantage in the Arena. It doesn't take long for me to realize that I can't.

I discover that Knox volunteered himself for these Hunger Games in lieu of his 13 year old cousin, Max. Knox has an older sister and a younger one, but I feel like I was punched in the face by this. Knox had never admitted to any of us, that I knew, that he was a volunteer! Now I can't help but feel that if Knox doesn't win, it's a bit of a travesty. He's smart, kind hearted, strong willed, selfless…the list really goes on and on. Knox had received a nine from the Gamemakers, so he clearly isn't lacking in the talent department, either.

When the phone rings I almost drop the remainder of my mashed potatoes all over me, and I reach across my bed and answer. Of course it's Roman.

"Shouldn't you be thinking about bed?" he says.

"Then why the hell are you calling me!"

Roman must've placed his hand over the receiver for I hear a few muffled noises, but then he comes through clearly. "You were impressive in your interview. You've got a couple of sponsors, and I'm trying to get you more. I know you were turning it on for the cameras, but it didn't come across that way. It's damn bad luck, that this Knox kid from Nine is like a damn saint."

My heart lurches and I feel funny when I am told that me, Herod, I've actually got sponsors already! Plural! That meant at least two, didn't it. The feeling doesn't last particularly long, however, as Roman reveals the bit about Knox. "So he's grabbing up all the sponsors?"

"No, not at all. I didn't say that. I think a couple of them believe he's too good to be true. We haven't had a volunteer in the Hunger Games in about ten years, so you'll have to forgive people for being surprised."

"He's a good guy." I say flatly, watching Farah's interview on my television even if it is muted. "He should win."

"Don't go getting overly sentimental on me _now_, Herod." Roman so rarely used my real name, it surprised me. "You can win these Games, you know you can. I know you feel like you've never done anything important, or weren't able to discover what your calling was. Remember when I called you a gamer? It's _this_, Herod. I knew when I began talking to you that first night at dinner, on the train. I don't think I've ever had a more promising tribute. Realize that the Hunger Games is what you've been waiting for. _This_ is what you're supposed to do."

My mouth is open at the receiver, but no sound is coming out. I try to focus on the fact that I'm the best he's ever had? Surely that must be a lie. All of that, however, is just to distract myself from allowing Roman's words to sink in. I figure they were carefully selected, though they sound as though he believes them.

"You're not ordinary Herod, you are anything but. Trust me on this. I don't care if you believe me or not, but it's true. I was privy to footage of your interview with the Gamemakers. You were brilliant."

"But," I start as though he were a parent I was back-sassing, "I was just—"

"Doesn't matter. _Listen to me!_" he shouts through the receiver and I can't help but feel myself tighten up, but my ears almost ring, and it seems as though my hearing has gone hyper-sensitive. I can hear muffled noises in the background. "Your instincts are great. That's something that no one can teach. It's what's going to win you these Games. I've seen enough tributes to know. Believe me, don't second-guess yourself. In there, you do, and you're going to die. Get out of your head, and live in your gut."

After about four seconds of breathing on my end, I say, "Ok." Roman's words have seemed to entered through my ears, but gone and laid eggs all inside of me.

"I've got to go. Herod, you will win."

Then he is gone, and it takes me probably a full minute to stretch back across my bed, and actually put the phone receiver back on it's cradle.

Even with my television muted, it seems as though my room has entered a state of extreme silence, like a vacuum. How is it possible that now I'm not hungry, or I am so tired all of a sudden? Shouldn't I be jumping at the chance to second-guess myself, and find flaws in Roman's over-simplified instructions? I will win. Unless Roman was a much bigger wheel in the Capitol than he was already, I can't logically see how this can be. Still, tacked to my heart, was a sensation of truth.

* * *

><p>My body awakens itself after the sun has risen, although I wouldn't guess it to be what I would consider late morning. I'm correct, my clock tells me that it is 9:21 in the morning. Last night I hadn't bothered to set an alarm, in the wake of Roman's declarations. So stupid, but yet…as I toss off the sheets and bounce down to my heels, why worry? I am up now, aren't I? Plenty of time.<p>

I luxuriate in the shower as much as possible. Odds were with the fact that I would never have another one. I love the feel of the water beating onto my back and shoulders, the smell of the hot water creeping in my nostrils. I must spend 10 whole minutes under the spray, before even worrying about soap or shampoo. What I think about in this time, I couldn't say. District Eight, my family, my friends, the Arena, my opponents, Farah, Wren, Knox, Lurie…and yet at the same time it was like being in a coma. Not one thought could I recall. It simply had occurred. I dress very simply, for I know that I'll be seeing both Roman and Avella in a little while.

For breakfast I order my favorite. Bacon, eggs, and a couple of light, fluffy crepes to boot. Usually I would have opted for pancakes, thicker and heartier, but maybe it's because I've never had crepes and I wanted to say I had. I have two full glasses of orange juice, and a little bit of milk. Everything is delicious and perfect around here. I wonder if the citizens of the Capitol even realize how amazing everything tasted. Like waving a magic wand, everything was just…done to perfection.

I eat half of a banana, and I look at an orange and an apple which are shining before me, but I can't seem to push them down my gullet. I could've eaten any thing I wanted. Could've had steak and potatoes, but I wanted breakfast. It was time for breakfast, so that's what I ate.

Looking out my window at the Capitol, I see amidst the skyscrapers and fields of glass and metal, everyone is abuzz with the excitement of the Hunger Games. Today is the day…no other. It's already time. So much of it passes by without me even realizing it. Funny how it always moves so fast when you don't want it to. Time is everyone's enemy, really. Time is impervious and immortal, however; it never plays by the rules.

A young-looking man wearing glasses in a formal looking suit with a thin red tie, and silver cufflinks, retrieves me from my suite. We are accompanied by a very stocky-looking solider, who inclines his head slightly to me in lieu of actually having to talk. Instead the bespectacled man takes me down the elevator. Somehow I wanted to acknowledge that it was the last time I'd be in my suite, or on the eighth floor of the tower, by they've already speeded out of view as we descend. No time left to reminisce or say good bye.

Just when I figure the guy with the glasses who couldn't have been more than about twenty-six or seven's only job is to play escort, I am put in a small room, for just a few moments.

"I'm going to install this tracker in you, Herod. Might feel a little pinch or sting." He's preparing a needle, somewhere off in my peripheral vision. The guard with us, has an impassive face, like it was set to that channel on a television; permanent indifference.

I don't even notice the needle until he's drawing it out. Even then, the pain is quite bearable.

"Good lad." The man behind the glasses gives me a smile. "You need to rest a moment, make sure you don't feel dizzy or anything."

"I'm fine." I say.

"Alright then, let's get you to the car."

More than a car, it is a plush limousine—though I am not able to ride in it alone. Riding with Avella and her assistant Jim was decent enough, though I would've hoped for Roman. Avella tells me that I will be meeting with Roman soon enough, once we arrive at the Arena. Her assistant says little, except to say hello. For the rest of the time, he is typing rapidly on a personal computer. It might be a little unprofessional, but the light clicking of his fingers on the keys makes a welcomed distraction.

Avella asks what I had for breakfast, and as I'm answering I realize this showcases just how little she knows of me. I'll have to admit that while her designs hadn't been anything spectacular, they seemed to have done the trick. Caesar and the audience last night seemed to have liked her thrown-together, lazy suit look. She's seen every inch of my body, and it makes me wish I could see hers. Not necessarily in a lascivious way, although amongst the curves of her hips and breasts, I was unlikely to find anything I wouldn't like. It was more that I felt like I needed to invade someone else's privacy for once.

I ask her if she's married, has kids, or if she's a vegetarian. Her assistant, who shares a name with my father, looks at me mildly, bathed in the glow of his computer screen, but quickly goes back to minding his business. Avella smiles and doesn't seem bothered with the inquires at all. She is 33 years old, has never been married, although she was engaged to a man once. It didn't work out…and I wasn't going to pry. She tried being a vegetarian, but she likes meat too much. Avella made a soft crack about her weight, but she looked beautiful to me, top to bottom. People with meat on their bones always looked nicer than those with not enough. Her voice was just as feminine as her features, and the whole effect was lulling.

It was easy to listen to Avella talk, and she was willing to do. She pointed out a couple of landmarks as the car sailed past them. I could tell in my bones that the car ride had taken a while, but we'd arrived at what must've been the Arena before long. Jim dismissed himself from our presence, apparently to go off and do…whatever it was he did. Avella joined me in a room which was much more starkly furnished than any of the ones at the Training Center.

"These will do just fine." Avella said, perhaps because she felt it was too quiet. She had gone and lain out my clothing for the Hunger Games. A pair of khaki-colored pants, made of a thick durable material with two main pockets, one in the back, and one large pocket sewn on to the right leg down around the thigh. My shirt was short-sleeved and a rich brown color, except for a horizontal black stripe about six inches tall, that stretched across the middle. There is even a new pair of underwear, boxer briefs—definitely not what I'm used to wearing.

I had tried on a couple of different outfits in addition to this one. A tank top and swimming shorts was all there was to one of the rejected sets, another had been a moderately heavy jacket, long-sleeved shirt with jeans, and boots. There was one or two others, but clearly it had been designed so that we tributes didn't know what sort of climate we would be thrown into. These clothes…seemed rather non climate-specific. I hoped it wouldn't be very cold, because the t-shirt wasn't particularly thin. I hoped it wouldn't be extremely hot, or those pants might become cumbersome.

Avella excuses herself with a smile and a wink, telling me good luck as I rise to change my clothes. I don't quite know why, it isn't as if she hasn't already seen me naked, but a little privacy never hurt anyone.

At first the underwear feels clingy, but once I step into my pants, button and zip them up, and pull on my shirt, I realize everything I am to wear is surprisingly comfortable. The shirt is made of a similar texture as the underwear…it isn't transparent or opaque in any way, but the material breathes easily. My shoes are what I believe are called tennis shoes, brown in color with black laces. I had received new socks as well.

Finally I see Roman, who looks a bit disheveled. Clearly he didn't get a nice shower and a long sleep as I had, last night. He needs a shave, and though his hair is curly, it looks messed up from what is usual.

"Herod. Hi." He gives me a smile and though he thought about not doing so, he leans in for an awkward hug. Really more of a slapping to my back, before he nods once again and looks me straight in the eye.

"You know what you've got to do. Stick with your alliance when you want to, break it off when necessary. I don't think finding water will be too much of a problem in of itself, except that remember everyone else, and everything else, will be needing water, as well."

Every _thing _else? Oh shit. Couldn't have been a slip of the tongue, Roman never says anything but precisely what he means to say. "Right." I manage to say. A small stab of panic rises up inside of me, but I suppress it quickly.

"Looks like Avella has you outfitted just fine. Everything nice and comfy?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." I say, rolling my shoulder blades back a bit to help relieve tension. Roman doesn't make me nervous, but the Hunger Games…well, as much as I tried to ignore that throb of anxiety, it was there.

"Get a weapon if you can, but it's not worth certain death, over. If the Careers have dibs on everything, you're much better of just running for it. Remember that traveling in groups can be very beneficial. People might have stuff you don't, or things you want. Anyone out there who doesn't want to kill you on sight…well, it's a good thing. But also, being with others slows you down, and makes it much harder to move quietly, or hide."

"Right, I know." I hear myself nodding, keeping my face steady as if this stuff has been ingrained in me all along. Of course he _isn't_ telling me anything that I don't already know, but I do not mind hearing it again.

"If you get hot, I wouldn't suggest taking off your shirt too much. You've got much better camouflage with it on." He opens the door to the room, and starts leading me out. There are guards posted here. Even if I was worried about them eavesdropping, which I'm not, too damn bad…they have full access to our conversation.

"Got it."

Roman keeps talking as we walk swiftly and I attempt to swallow down my rising apprehension. "I'll be able to see you at all times out there. If I can get you some supplies, make them last. It gets more expensive every day that passes, so if you do get something, _make it last_."

I nod, and we round a corner. Oh man…it's almost here. I can see by the look of the room, this is the last place I'm going to be, before I enter the Arena.

Some officials quickly pat me down, make sure I haven't been handed anything illegal by Roman, or anyone else. My father's ring is my token to keep, but I still have to remove it as it is speedily inspected, before returned to me. I slip it back onto my middle finger as I see Roman stand there, watching.

People buzz all around me, some with microphones mounted to headsets, positioning me on a specific part of the floor. Somewhere far above me, I hear the opening of something mechanical, and there is a soft whoosh of air. The people with headsets, which remind me of flies, back off rapidly.

All of a sudden I feel like I can't breathe, but after another couple of seconds, it passes. "Any last piece of advice!" I half yell to my mentor. This is really it. This knowledge makes my voice high and tight.

He is headed out the door, but before he leaves, Roman turns and looks at me solidly. "Yeah, _win_."


	7. Action

Upward, I ascend at a pretty even clip, but as I gaze up in anticipation at the aperture of hole I am rising out of, my nostrils are attacked. The smell is full and damp. As I attempt to keep from screaming, not from fright but perhaps from all of the pent up energy which wants to burst out of me like a geyser, I see what was the ceiling become the floor.

The dais I stand upon isn't very large, but I hear the gears lock softly into place with a slight hydraulic swoosh.

Green dominates the landscape around me. A myriad of tall, spiny grasses hang heavily before me in the thick air. I appear to be on a low, slow loping hill which I turn to see terminates in what appears to be a forest. Given the humidity, the bright yellow and red flower that comes into startling clarity a few yards away from me, or it's waxy stalk almost sagging under it's weight, I wonder if the word jungle might be more appropriate.

A bird warbles in long, high loops nearby. Everything seems moist, as if recently bathed in mist. I glance up and notice a figure standing erect, but almost trembling. They are female, or I'm relatively sure of this given their outline, a girl with brown hair. At first I think it may be Wren, but I decide the hair isn't long enough. Nor is it short enough to be Farah.

I see another person, about the same distance away though partially obscured by a few greasy-looking fronds of a spindly-looking bush whose rising shape reminds me vaguely of a mushroom cloud. This is the young boy from District Three, who meets my gaze, but then purposefully looks away and toward the sky.

It is cloudy and overcast, grays and whites tumbling together in a maze of endlessness. I swear I can feel the sun, but I certainly cannot see it. Standing out clearly in the sky, are the electronic numbers counting down; bright and impossible to miss. 00:41, 00:40, 00:39, 00:38, and so on.

A shiver crosses my body in the front and licks down my back. I do a complete sweep of my surroundings and see what could be a third person, further up the slope of the hill, and perhaps if I squint, I can make out a fifth. While there are not tall bushes everywhere like the one which half block my view of the boy from Three, the air is stagnant and makes spot sighting very difficult. There appears to be an opening off to my left, where I can tell the natural vegetation has been thinned, at least when compared to the forest. Still everything shimmers with glossy leaves, fecund and plump. Many types of grass intermingle to form a pattern of greens, beckoning one to test it's texture for themselves.

Just as I swing my eyes back toward the boy from Three, I am jarred by a deliciously close explosion. Did the shockwaves really just travel up my legs, or was it my imagination? Stunned, I hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath and now suck in a lungful of saturated air. I see the kid from Three meet my expression once more, but I see his eyes are wide even from here, and I hear what I think might be a gasp from him. My eyes burn through the skies to see the countdown continue on it's way. 00:29, 00:28, 00:27. Just as I realize that despite the humidity, my entire body feels unreasonably cool. That's when the screaming began.

Shrill, high-pitched shrieks that were horribly close, reverberating through the thick air around me. I feel my jaw all but lock, and I attempt to open my mouth but I can't seem to. I decide that whoever it is, they're done…a new round of horrific, piercing screams lance through me from all directions, making every hair on my body stand up. The muscles in my legs are screaming at me to run, as the girl's howls turn into deep, undulating sobs and wet gasps. I am shaking now, I am sure of it, the back of my neck feeling as though a chill breeze had blown over it.

Back to the Arena's skies, I see the counter on it's one way march. 00:14, 00:13, 00:12, 00:11. I perceive my own anxious breaths, short and spiked as they expunge from my nostrils. Another female scream, undulating out through the air pierces me like a knife in the back. My fingers slip and slide around, I make tight fists as I see the clock tick of the seconds. 00:07, 00:06.

The girl keeps screaming her head off, her voice catching in her throat, but she keeps going. I decide to close my eyes, and just about the time I do, a cannon sounds off, ricocheting out through the arena.

My first step off my platform is so heavy, that I almost feel the muscles in my left leg seize up there, as if I were stuck in mud. I do not have time to even recognize this as I rush over the ground, legs pumping as I seem to leap through the air. I work evenly along the line of the hill, opposite from the openness, but at the same elevation as I'd begun. Like flashes of darkness, a few shapes rip past me like bees. My breath catches in my throat as I realize they are tearing ass for the jungle that this hill empties into.

Now I cannot control my body an longer it would seem, and it starts to angle that direction as well, but I make a concerted effort, gritting with the pain of it, to veer my body on it's same heading. The grass and ground is wet, pregnant with moisture. My tennis shoes spring off it as I dash as fast as I possibly can on my same route, like an arrow.

I slam my foot into a rock somewhere along the line and my entire right foot is throbbing and seeming to ring from the inside out. I am moving laterally across the gradual slope of the hill, remaining on the same bearing. Only vaguely aware of what is by me, all I know is that I don't want to go running headlong into the jungle. The slight hill I am on angles that direction but now I am moving past the reaches of the thickest portion of jungle.

Fortunately the grade is very slight, for running downhill can be extremely hard on the body. I follow the natural lie of the hill, allowing it to feed me down into a low-lying area. I'm flanked on one side by the jungle, the other, a bit of grass. Beyond the grass, the ground slopes down further, marking the lip of what seems to be a great depression, like a grassy crater, or wide circular dimple in the earth. Straight ahead what appears to be a moving stream. Beyond that more low lands, with an occasional marking of a few trees here or there.

I do not see the Cornucopia, of which I'm certain is somewhere in the Arena. As my thoughts barely register this, I hear the blast of a cannon and this spurs my body onward. I am not acting, I'm simply reacting. Someone has died already. I charge up to the stream, and to my surprise I see it moving a bit more swiftly than I'd have imagined. Once the second cannon sounds through the Arena, I have already leapt into the stream.

Under the water, it is quiet, marred only by the gentle rhythm of the water. I surface, shocked as to just how deep the water actually is. I swallow a bit and decide it's fresh, but I clamor out onto the far side of the bank sopping wet, and breathing anxiously as I spin around to see if I have anyone following me. It's the only advantage of openness in the wild. You can't hide, but neither can someone who might be trying to find you.

Two people are already dead, and that girl screaming bloody murder…she could've only accounted for one blast. Another might have gone off while I was in the stream. Incidentally I have no storage container, so I quickly retrace my steps and slurp up what must be four or five messy handfuls of fresh water. If it's poisoned, then I'm going to die. I can't think like that right now, I _can't_.

My pants are waterlogged and quite heavy, but I manage to move swiftly enough to a small copse of trees, and grasping one of the weedy but resilient tree trunks, toss myself further into the foliage. I am just a few feet in, and these trees aren't webbed together like the dark splotch still very much within my line of sight, the real _jungle_.

Here I crouch down and attempt to get my breathing and heart rate under control. From this vantage point, I can at least see no one is following in my tracks. To my left, lies the dense jungle which is mainly dominates the landscape on the other side of the stream, but I can see the waterway must travel through it. There is some jungle on my side of the stream…a little disconcerting. I do not want _anything_ sneaking up on me. If I am going to die, I want to see what's going to kill me. I hope I am afforded that much dignity, at least.

Directly ahead lies the open path I'd used to get here. To my right and a little ahead, I follow the flow of the stream, until it disappears right out of sight. Adjusting my position amongst the trees, I squint and realize that it empties into a bowl of land, which I'd seen earlier. The land at my current elevation forms the lip of it, with steeper slopes on all sides, and the stream rather close to me, emptying down into it.

Looking ninety degrees to the right, I see that I can circumvent the basin bottom altogether, and that the land begins sloping upward again, on the far side of it. I decide to go ahead and call that direction East. It is completely arbitrary, but in an arena as varied as this one, I need to assign directions to keep my sanity.

I haven't seen hide nor hair of the Cornucopia. Perhaps it was up the hill from my starting post, or back in the direction I'm now calling west? It certainly was not in _this_ direction, of that I was certain. As I console myself over this information another cannon blasts through the Arena, and I exhale long and slow through my nostrils.

I am freakishly aware that I have traded temporary safety now, for safety later. Though I'm not one of the first victims of the 63rd Hunger Games, how am I going to survive with no supplies, no weapons? This isn't at all what I'd envisioned for myself. Those of us who'd agreed with Knox's plan, had decided that keeping our alliance secret from the Careers was of the utmost importance. I already found the huge gaping hole in such a plan.

We have no strategy in the Arena. Surely the Careers had worked out some sort of idea of just what they were going to do, and how to go about it.

I have to move from my current position, but in every direction, I risk exposure. Staying here might be safe for the time being, although even that wasn't guaranteed. Somehow I know in my heart that beneath the dense layer of canopy and entwined trees, I will die. There's only on direction to go, so I set off due east.

* * *

><p>Time has passed, although I'm not entirely sure how long. Ten minutes perhaps? I know there are at least five people dead by now, could be six if a cannon had gone off while I'd been in the stream. I had discovered a distortion to the direction I'm calling south. Everything had looked perfectly fine, as if the lowlands stretched onward, but there had been a flickering in a mass that rippled up and down right through mid-air. Picking up a couple of rocks, I had thrown them at the distortion, and they were all but incinerated. I saw a brief wave of a hexagonal pattern, like a bee's hive spread out on what was an invisible curtain, and then it was gone. It was the barrier keeping us in.<p>

I didn't know the shape of the arena. It could be square, rectangular, circular, a triangle…who knew what shape it took. All I knew is that now, I was about 100 yards or so 'north' of the barrier. I had climbed up a gradual incline, but I had been nervous and by the time I'd turned around I could see a shape or two maneuvering their way down the opposite slopes and into the basin where the creek emptied. Had they seen me? Were they coming to kill me? From my current vantage point I couldn't see much beyond the opposing lip of the basin's edge, though I was well above it on my side. If I remained over here for too much longer, the possibility of being trapped with no weapon to defend myself was a real one.

Assuming I was near the edge of the Arena, that meant those in the middle would likely kill one another before they got to me…but those figures speedily descending into the basin's bottom, notified me I wasn't the only tribute in this sector. They could've been Careers, but it seemed a bit early for them to split off into two-man hit teams. I couldn't tell if they were large or small, female, male, or one of each. Much of this was due to the fact that I was obscuring as much of myself as possible, one knee on the ground, the other bent in front of me as I tried to see beyond the wide circular bowl of topography which opened before me and steadily wound down, and down.

A bird calls from overhead, and I feel my blood almost run cold. Looking up into the tangle of greens, I can see nothing but the spindly tops swaying very faintly—here on the ground, I cannot feel any breeze. That's when I turn and see more shapes, looking almost like their dancing now, level with me, on the far side of the basin.

_Shit._

Oh shit. Without thinking, I just hop up from my position, and start clamoring through the trees, not even caring…I need to separate myself from anyone, as soon as possible. I don't see how many people were coming, but it had definitely been more than one. Careers hang in packs; this was the prevailing thought on my mind, even as I get myself entangled within some branches, and as I rip and pull my way through them, some bit of nature had whipped open a bit of my cheek. I could feel the wound, and putting a hand quickly to my face, I felt a little blood…but nothing major.

There was a sudden high, keening wail which split the air all around me. _Waaaaaaahhhh, waaaaaaahhhh_. The peculiar sound makes my blood run cold. Ahead of me, I see that the terrain is moving just slightly upward, but has gotten significantly more rocky.

Cleaved and scattered chunks of rock bite and stick down into the green, grassy hill like a bottom row of junky teeth from a mouth with multiple rows. There was no possible way I made that sound up, was there? _Was there_!

_Waaaaaaahhhh, waaaaaaahhhh_. The squawk floods out into the air and clips back to my ears with alarming speed. Every hair on my body is rising, as I instinctively crouch down. What the hell is that! What _is_ that! I take a few shaky, but deep breaths and finally I hear my heart beat, but I don't feel like my insides were being rattled around like ball bearings in a can of spray paint.

The third time, the w_aaaaaaahhhh, waaaaaaahhhh_ sound rings in my ears, I've decided it sounds like a bird. But this was very loud and considering that I couldn't see any birds in the trees, I wondered just what type of bird it could be?

I jerk up from my position, and though I feel dizzy, I spin around and ensure that I'm alone. I do not see anyone, or anything. My jaw feels clenched as I look around moving steadily toward the rocky hill before me. I have been in one place for too long though, I'm aware of this. While I might've been out of reach for a while, now other tributes would have surely fanned out.

_Eeee-aaahhhh, eeee-aaahhh_. This new call reverberates through the open air around me. The rocks do little to muffle the sound, instead send it resounding right back on top of me. That definitely sounds like the same bird, but was it? Unquestionably not the same call, but was it just one trying out various speech patterns, or were two talking back and forth? And if so…why? I'd seen the Hunger Games plenty. There was all _kinds_ of shit that could kill you, besides your fellow tributes.

Movement to my left, just as I am eclipsing onto where the hill begins my would've been ascent. I turn steadily, and see a flash of movement. All green, blue, and gold in the direct sunlight, which I apparently have failed to notice has won over the yielding clouds. My hands ball into fists, though it is a reflex rather than a conscious action. I have no weapon whatsoever.

It bounces and sways, a brightly-colored thing not much bigger than a swan. It's curved neck and small head are the most beautiful shade of blue I've ever seen. A splash of white frames it's eye, like a fisherman's hook. It looks at me as it rustles slightly, and I notice there is a lot of feathers behind it, like it's dragging something behind it. I've never seen whatever the hell kind of bird this is, in my entire life. We don't have them in District Eight, that's for damned sure.

I watch it's beak open, black and small, and the same shivering _eee-aaahhh, eee-aaahhh_ sound emanates. I stand there, perhaps stupidly, but this lovely colored but frightening bird hasn't moved any closer to me. It stalks one step forward, but then remains stoic there, framed in the sunlight. I see a glint of red in it's eyes, which how the hell am I to know if it's normal or not? All wild things in the arena are going to kill you…right? Maybe not…my mind flashes back to just last year when a few rabbits were caught and eaten by tributes.

For whatever reason, I take a step toward it, clapping my hands. The bird reacts instantly. Up it leaps, flying…or in some kind of graceful fall, squirrels away from me and landing softly in the lush carpet of green grass just ahead of the rocky hillside. It's head pivots on it's beautiful brilliant blue neck. Throat opening it lets out a ghastly cry, different from the other two. It conjures an image through my head of someone being butchered. I back away from the avian thing, keeping it well within my line of sight.

It leapt sideways once more and I notice it's wings which I realize are completely separate from it's long train of feathers that follow behind it. It's head it darting to and fro and I feel internal alarms in my head buzzing, but I cannot take my eyes off this thing.

"Hey!" comes a shout and all of my muscles freeze, eyes spinning and siphoning off the bright greens of my surroundings. Who said that?

Just as I see the shape in my peripheral vision, the bizarre bird lets off a low cluck, and hops into the air, gliding further and further back. Red-faced, with the sunlight glinting off his glasses, I see Arko from District Six breathing a bit heavily and certainly looking winded, he half-coughs and I see the bird flash out of sight amongst the rocks of the hill.

"Herod." He manages to get out, breathing in a rasp, "Sorry. I'm out of breath." Arko is a few inches taller than me, which already makes me like him a bit. Some of the people I hopefully wouldn't be seeing in here, seemed like they were almost a foot taller than me. He's thinner than I am, and pretty unremarkable all-around I have to say. Then again, he was standing before me, so he couldn't have been a complete dunce.

"No, it's alright man. Where's Wren?"

A look from the corners of Arko's eyes already tells me he hasn't seen his district-mate, and he confirms it soon enough. "The cornucopia is that way…" he exhales and coughs a little once more, turning to point northwest from here, though more west, than north.

Must've been up the hill I'd original started out on, and it was currently being obscured by distance, from the landscape emptying into the basin, and then a large blotch of thick trees, northwest from the basin, obscuring our view. Higher points yet lingered just to our north, or at least what I was calling north, and the rocky hill behind us to our east.

"What'd you get?" I say.

"Nothing." Arko tells me with a final clearing of his throat. "As soon as I saw it was the C-cornucopia, I ran for it. All I saw was someone rolling down the hill, I…I guess they tripped, and someone else was chasing after them." I eyes were a hazel brown color, and wide and magnified behind his glasses. "I didn't see who."

I was glad to see someone who was on my side…our side, whatever the hell I wanted to call it. A non-career, who had agreed to team up under the leadership of Knox.

"I can't believe that peacock is so jumpy," he says matter-of-factly, and as I follow his gaze I am also very much aware that we're exposed here. If Arko could see me, that means someone else, maybe someone who wasn't friendly, could see the both of us.

"The…what? Pee-cock?" It sounds moderately dirty, but…I had never heard of such a thing in my life.

"The peacock." He said, raising one eyebrow as if I were a complete idiot. "Expected all the animals in here to be killers. Guess everyone gets lucky once in a while."

"I've heard the cannon a few times. See anyone dead?" I converse, although my eyes keep darting back to the hill where this…peacock had retreated, as well as feeling like maybe someone was putting the nock of an arrow against the bowstring, my backside the target.

Arko shook his head, and removes his glasses, wiping them off on his shirt. "No. I was moving too fast to see much of anything. I need a weapon, but I need my life more."

Perhaps it was just my hyper-sensitivity at the moment but I let off a small laugh, and found myself nodding. "Know what you mean. I may be unarmed, but I'm alive." There were plenty of people I'd have rather seen alive and well, but I got Arko, and I wasn't about to lose an ally. "Knox never hammered out a strategy." I say as the pair of us start walking northward, to where the trees to our west thicken up a bit, and might have a better shot of obscuring us from onlookers from the other sides of the basin on the same level ground as us.

"If we just try every man for himself, the Careers are sure to win." Arko tells me, stopping and glancing at me easily. "I think there's water down that slope."

"Oh yeah," I say, exhaling and though still anxiety ridden, allow myself to calm down. "There's a stream, it's pretty deep in parts."

"Really." Arko sounds surprised. "Which way is it?"

I hear an very audible _click_. My ears being assaulted by it, even if it was such a little sound. It was distinctive, oddly familiar and yet, I put it out of my mind as I turn back, and point in the direction I was calling very south, and west. "Back that way, but I think we'd better head further up. The Careers could be there by now."

A flash of movement from the corner of my eye as I am spinning back to face Arko, when I feel a jolt of pain hammer just down from my shoulder. I know my brows knit together as I face Arko, whose face has turned positively vicious, like a were a demon or something.

It's when he yanks the knife out of my arm that a blossom of fiery pain explodes. A flash of steel in the sunlight and I reflexively throw my hands up, the blade biting and gouging into my left, the silver tip of the switchblade having been deflected, for it's target had been my neck.

It isn't until I spin away, lowering my body stance, that I see Arko rushing forward to meet me, trying to connect with something extra vital on his third try. Funny how your brain takes a moment to catch up with some facts. His eyes blazing behind his glasses, teeth gritted with a face fit for a horror movie; _He's trying to kill me_.

A sidestep and I snatch my arm back from the air where it surely would've been torn open by the switchblade. My mind reels as this is no deterrent for him. Arko thrusts forward with a savage growl and I feel pure adrenaline roar up from my stomach and into every facet of my body. First I feel his knife gouge into my forearm, slicing through the layers easily.

We both snag around each other's limbs, my bleeding hand vice like on the wrist of his knife-wielding hand, my other balled up and I make a weak, glancing connection to the side of his neck.

Swirls of violent color, like an angry oil painting come to life. I usurp the knife, momentarily and I feel it slide into his stomach. A blast of energy and the world rings around me as his fist connects high on my cheek. Feeling like someone has just thrown a brick at my head, so I scrabble for the knife, but he's thrown his hand before my face, fingers needling for my eye sockets. I snap my eyes shut.

Everything black and red behind my eyelids, I grope for the knife and my fingertips discover it in my blindness. A twist of my body and I latch off, swinging underhand and bury the knife once more into his stomach. My digits are slippery and wet, but as he doubles over, I don't have any control over my body anymore—I react. My arm swings up and I blast my elbow and forearm down onto Arko's backside as he drops to a knee.

_Wham!_ I bury my foot into his ear, and his glasses go spinning off and I see him eat the ground. I launch myself down onto him, and I see his eyes burn at me. I barely recognize he's retaken possession of the switchblade. It flashes like a prism's light but I catch his wrist and feel my strength bear and snap back against his, preventing further assault.

Arko makes a low noise, which turns into something like a yip. I wind up and slam my fist toward his face, and I feel one of his canines rip into my knuckle as this pain is new, and manages to reach through the veil providing the hormones through my adrenal glands. Still now I plant my alternate fist, the bleeding one, into the side of his neck as he lets off a scream.

He bucks as I go spilling off him, but somehow now in possession of the switchblade. On all fours I launch myself at my attacker. I hear a whistle, a spit, a scream, I am not even aware as the switchblade descends from my fist down at him. It jars off his palm, and into his forearm, ripping open new ribbons of blood. Again I swing it down, all my fire focused to the tip of the knife as I bury it into his clavicle. His eyes are so wide, shock and fear chiefly shining through them. Obviously he'd expected this encounter to go another way. I'd been fucking aiming for his _neck_, but he'd twisted, the little worm, and I loose grip on the blade as he rolls away, and scrambles to all fours, hacking.

I'm looking at the bright sky, so I scramble over like a fiddler crab and see through narrowed slits in my eyes, him hobbling up to his feet. Snarling, I don't know how but everything around me filters out. The sunlight, the trees, the grass.

Furious, I bury the switchblade into his lower back, up to the cross guard and he lets out a peeling yell. Somehow this sound only eggs me on, and I drive the knife again into his back, a little further up. Blood is saturating his t-shirt, as it is my own, but once I'd driven the blade's entire length between his shoulder blades, my own extremities beginning to scream with injury, I saw him collapse, and paw at the ground before him.

My vision isn't exactly dim, it's just focused like a laser beam. I kick him once, then again. He splutters over onto his back, face a mask of blood. His hands are waving and scraping at me as I slide down onto my knees, and stab him right in his chest once again. His eyes are wide saucers, his lips curved off in a grimace of shock. The blade's length is not very long, though my brain spins this off like useless information as I find my arm hooking down again. Once more. No noise as the blade gashes into his body. Twice more. Now he lets out a deep gasp. Three times more. Blood sprays over my forearms and in between my fingers. I don't know whose is whose any longer.

A deep, ragged gasping ushers weakly in front of me. Coiled and bunched like a cat on it's last life, I am relentless. After I believe two, or perhaps three more thrusts from the switchblade, Arko begins to move less, and less. How many was that? I've lost count. One of his eyelids is half closed, the other eye is wide and staring up at me. His mouth is sputtering and is making weak movements as I jam my switchblade into him one last time to the cross guard. Swallowing, pain from my own body begins to win in the struggle of attention. My hand is throbbing, my upper arm is if anything, positively _pulsating_ and I realize entirely how much pain I'm in.

I see the bone handled switchblade in my hand. Both are shaking and slick with blood. I try to let it go, but the muscles in my hands are seized so tightly around it, I simply move it down and away from Arko. Amidst my pain, I wonder why he isn't thrashing around, or twitching even. He's simply still, like he's stopped.

I am bathed in violence, and realizing that a vast majority of the gore is not my own, something inside of me pinches, and I feel like I scream, but I'm sure no sound comes out. I switch off Arko and, on my ass, take inventory of how rapidly my heart is beating, how shallow my breaths are coming. My jaw is clenched, and as I concentrate every molecule of my energy to unhinge it, I succeed and realize I've also dropped the knife.

Seeing Arko move just a little bit from the corner of my eye makes me want to cry out, to look away, but I cannot. My eyes, or something deeper inside of me is fixated on him. The blood all over his chest looks too dark to be real, staining his once light gray t-shirt. Rosettes of darkest color dot across his chest like a demented constellation. Blood seeps from these most grievous of injuries. _Oh my God_. I don't even believe in him, but…oh my God.

I shuffle slowly to my feet, and expect to be dizzy, but I am largely even-minded, not only that, but aware. Now everything pops back into view at once, the jade colored grass, the blue sky, the sunlight roving over the shroud of blood that Arko has become. In the light of day like this, there's no where for the violence to hide. It is tattooed on my mind. Just as I begin to realize what's happened, the gust from a cannon sends my eyes darting to my surroundings. No peacock, just the nearby trees, drooping sadly in the absence of the wind, having borne witness to such a thing.

My sinuses open like I am crying, or about to…but I'm not. At least I think I'm not. For the first time in my life, I actually smell blood. Its sticking to me, not letting go. His, mine…its _on_ me now. Wincing, I retrieve the switchblade and though it's much lighter-weight than a hunting knife I'd much prefer, it was a knife nonetheless. My thumb moves to back of the cross bar and pushing down, the blade wags to one side, no longer taut. I snap it back into the bone handle with a click, that makes Goosebumps erupt over my forearms, even through the blood.

I'm wiping my lips off on the back of my hand, and I have no idea why. I've just killed a man. A boy…a man? Whatever he was, Arko was dead. Was he older than me? I think he might've been, but right now that didn't even matter. I'd killed him. He'd lied to me, straight to my face. It was all an ambush. Just one which had backfired on him. A shudder rolls it's way through my body and I believe I shiver, despite the humid clime.

Though I want nothing to do with it any longer, I watch myself detached-like, somewhere from above. I am rummaging around in Arko's pockets, and discover about six inches square of burlap, and some string. In his other pocket, three things, round and wrapped in plastic. What? Through the blood which coats one, and spatters onto the other two, I think they might be candies…or mints. I slide them into my pockets, and rolling back off the carnage that I myself was responsible for, I notice Arko's glasses on the ground. One lens is cracked, the other in-tact. I don't want to take them, I want nothing to do with any of what just transpired…but I see myself pocketing them as well. Maybe it was Roman who was making me do these things. Sure, lets blame Roman.

My arm pounded, but for now my t-shirt was sealing the gash shut reasonably well. The cut on my hand, and the other on the top of my forearm were relatively superficial. The one on my hand might've been able to use stitches, but I wasn't going to hold out hope for that. I glance back toward the rocky hill, to where the 'peacock' had apparently disappeared. I could more or less make out that the hill crested not far off, and perhaps it might've been a play of the sunlight, but I believed I might've seen that same glimmer of a bee hive pattern. The barrier again, only this time to what I am calling east.

Why couldn't Arko have jumped me right next to the barrier? I had quicker reflexes than he'd anticipated. I could've just knocked him into it. If people were anything like that rock I'd thrown earlier, I would have been spared from having to…having to…take care of him.

_Why should I feel so rotten!_ I yell at myself as I swallow and take a few steps away from Arko's body, heading north. He is the one who tricked me. He lied to me. As soon as I'd been pointing out the direction of the creek, he tried to kill me. That was the truth. He'd probably thought I was going to be easy pickings here, all by myself. My multiple gashes throbbed and reminded me humbly, that I hadn't escaped without a scratch.

Fighting Arko, I'd won…but I would not say I'd beaten him 'easily'. _Nothing_ about that had been easy; the physical side to it the simplest. True surprise had been on his side, but still if I'd not been stronger and quicker, things might've turned out would happen if I had to deal with a Career?

Yes I had a knife, but it was a push button switchblade. Lightweight and easy to carry…but rather wimpy when you compare it to a good hunting knife. Fighting the Careers with it, would be like bringing a toothpick to a swordfight.

Given the blade's small size, I did not look forward to having to dispatch anyone else with it. Arko hadn't died well at all. I attempt to put the pictures of his bloody, ravaged corpse from my mind but naturally this only makes them all the more difficult to ignore. How many times…did I stab him? Starting at my elbows and rolling up to my chin, I get a shiver and I clear my throat and _force_ myself not to rehash it.

Directly in front of me, and to the 'east', the land shifts up again, and with more startling an angle than the rock-strewn hill right by where I'd left Arko's corpse. I can see, though I need to squint a little, there is another huge hill off to my northwest. Seems like the landscape dips down into a valley to what I have assigned to be the 'north'. Maybe I ought to back track the way I came. Past Arko, past the rocky hill, circumventing the basin bottom as I had before, and back to the creek?

If anything Arko said had been the truth, it meant the Cornucopia was near the top of the hill I'd begun these Games on. The creek wasn't a whole lot closer to this imaginary tract of land I envision with all sorts of weapons gleaming, but it's a little closer than my current position. I'm relatively sure I am in the southeastern portion of the arena. Stay here, and I may be able to avoid more encounters. Then again, Arko had been to the Cornucopia, or I could only assume ha had, given his knife, and _he'd _found me already.

A low, dark feeling takes root in my brain. I realize that what I'd just done, it'd all had been captured on camera. Like any other year when I watched the Hunger Games off and on with my family, people in Panem had just seen me violently, sloppily, dispatch one of my fellow tributes. Sure he was a traitor, he'd lied to me flat out. But I'd still taken his life. You can't _get_ any more personal than that.

Does this mean Wren couldn't be trusted either? Seems about right. Farah had forewarned me despite the fact that she was anything but ugly herself, there were _pretty girls_. No girl as funny and pretty as Wren could've been for real. Does this mean that _anyone_ who I believed I'd be aligned with, is going to turn on me? It was difficult to envision Knox being so underhanded. I'd find it hard to see Haw or Cynthia from District Ten, pulling what Arko had. Same went for Lurie from Five. The only person I was reasonably sure I could trust was Farah. She might be dead. This thought made my feet feel heavier, but as I moved northward, I had to understand it could be the truth. Farah included or not, I didn't know any of these people; not _really_. I feel like I know Arko now, but that had not been a pleasant discovery.

Right around half a dozen people other than Arko, were dead. This meant I was one of what, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen tributes left? The number was still staggering, but hopefully some of my competitors would kill one another off before long.

Why hadn't that thing apparently called a peacock attack me? It was true that not all creatures in the Arena were deadly…but it seemed capable enough. Then the answer came to me. _Because there were other things in here, way worse than a peacock._ I flinched at this realization and took a 360 degree stock the grounds around me. I was more in the open here, though a thin veil of scraggly trees still held up to my left and obscured the basin bottom I wasn't about to go exploring. It was a gut instinct on my part. Could've been awesome down there, but escape was very tricky. Seemed like heading down those steep embankments was surely going to be a one-way trip.

The next hour or two go by without too many difficulties. I brushed up against something or other than is making my left arm, almost all of the skin there exposed pink and itchy. It wasn't a burning, but just annoying enough so that it never really went away. A huge black spider had fallen down on me, but I'd pitched it off quickly. To my shock it'd come running back toward my feet, but I stomped it several times, until it was a mess of black legs and goo. I was certain that getting bitten by one of those, _wasn't_ something I cared to experience.

I notice that the sun has continued it's trek across the sky, and I wonder why I haven't seen anyone else? Of course if they're keen to kill me, better that they stay away. I hear another cannon blast off as I begrudgingly decide to head up for higher elevation. I am exposed on the side of the steeper hill, but once I'm up there there's no second guessing. Once or twice I lost my footing, and I even took a small tumble. Thankfully I'd caught myself before I went spinning and falling all the way back down to where I'd killed Arko.

Nearer the edges of this plateau I've reached, there are no shrubs or trees to conceal me. Surely I'd stick out like a sore thumb to anyone who might be glancing my direction from any of the pocketed areas below. One side of the plateau empties down into a valley, the walls far too steep to try and climb down. On the other side of the valley, directly across from the plateau I'm on, I see another level flattening of ground. Over there, I see a dense high jungle which climbs at an elevation eclipsing even my own. I realize just how tired I am already getting. No water, no food…except for the few candies I'd picked off Arko. I hadn't even tasted one yet, for I'd remembered Roman's advice.

I gasp at seeing the silver parachute spiraling lazily though the late afternoon sky. Here on the plateau, I've moved myself back far enough to the tree line, so as not to be seen from areas below. My initial reaction is to go scanning for tributes, until I realize it must be for me. Mouth dry, I resist the urge to climb up a tree and nab it. Better to wait for the thing to glide down to the ground, than risk injury. What can Roman have possibly gotten for me! My stomach is cramping a bit, and the muscles in my body feel rubbery by the time I see it dash onto the ground. Bending over to pick it up, two things happen.

I am overwhelmed with a dense of dizziness and I crash to one side, the world spinning around me. Looking down at my arm where my t-shirt is still stuck into the stab wound I'd incurred there about five inches below my right shoulder, I see the fabric has essentially worked as a band aid. Secondly, the package is rectangular, and not very large. I suppose a gun could be in there. My mind is a bit slippery at the edges, like it had been greased.

It isn't until I rip open the package, that I realize I have a sponsor! Maybe just one…but I actually have a sponsor. Instead of a firearm, loaded and deadly, I see a bottle. Removing it from it's flimsy housing, I see that it is a plastic bottle, ribbed, and about 12 or 14 ounces. It has a screw on cap and is filled with a clear liquid. Turning it over in my hands, I can tell by the way the bubbles run up and down the inside, it's water.

Just what did this mean? The only fresh water available to me was the creek I'd jumped into so early on? There was no water around here? The water in the creek was poisonous, and this was drinkable? That I _needed _to go looking for water, somewhere? These thoughts went tumbling around in my head. There wasn't anything else in the packaging…just the plastic bottle of water.

There wasn't a lot of it really. I could've sucked it all back right now, though I twist off the cap, and take one nice, long swallow. The water sooths my parched mouth and I almost swig some more, but with a shaky hand, cap it back off. I've already drank about a fourth, or maybe fifth if I'm being generous, of the stuff. As I sit there with my legs out before me, looking a bloody mess, I decide that the real gift here, is the bottle…not the water. It's lightweight so it won't slow me down much, and I have transportable means of collecting and keeping water.

As the sunlight is cresting away from me, I realize that the haphazard directions I'd assigned to the arena, just might have been correct. This would place me at the eastern edge of the landscape, where late afternoon was threatening to turn into early evening. I see a flock of birds spiraling around and coming to roost in the lofty jungle across the valley from me. Strange birds…they aren't moving like anything I've ever seen before.

I am hungry, but I am not starving. If that peacock really was harmless, I should've tried to kill it with my switchblade. Up here, I could hear a few things in and amongst the trees, but I was loathe to enter them. Spiders, and things way worse, surely dwelled within. I took one last small swallow of water, and I close my eyes. Surely the cameras are no longer on me, I'm not doing anything remotely interesting.

For all that I've done, and for as tired as I feel, not a whole lot transpired today. Ran…killed a guy…climbed a hill or two. Discovered what a peacock was. Though I can't reconcile Arko as being easy on me, in the large scheme of things, I hadn't had to deal with anything else that was intense. Some of my fellow tributes were dead. Others still might be fighting for their lives as I sat there, or had to overcome far worse obstacles and I had. I need to go hunting for something while I still have some strength, and the nutrition and energy I'd received from breakfast this morning hadn't completely exited my system.

Still I can't seem to get off my ass. I watch the sunlight slip behind the jungle the peculiar birds are nesting in, and twilight comes on me slowly, and yet suddenly. It is hardly dark, but the shadows cast around me now are long, and treacherous-looking. My upper right arm still hurts, though now more stiffly, like an overworked muscle, than a fresh injury. My left hand stings too, but though it looks ghastly, my body has clotted the blood. I find myself blowing on the wound, which makes it sting. Why? I don't know. I am finding it increasingly hard to know why I am doing anything.

I realize that yes, my first day has been tough, but hardly tremendous. I had to kill a would-be ally, sure…but if it weren't for him, how would I even know I was really in the Arena? I hadn't seen the Cornucopia…I had not witnessed any other tributes. Oh wait…those people who'd gone down into the circular basin bottom. See, I am already finding it easy to forget shit like that. It's going to get worse. Surely. I know intrinsically that if my first day hadn't been too awful, tonight might bring new terrors; tomorrow I might die. Easy to say at least, I would have wished for a more intense first day. Maybe then fortune, karma…whatever it was, would pass me over because I'd suffered so intensely at the start. There was nowhere for it to go, but down.

Dad is proud of me, somewhere. He'd told me so. Was he still proud of me, covered in someone else's blood? Before the games, I had envisioned what it might be like to slit a throat or even stab someone with a hunting knife. Of course this little switchblade was hardly a hunting knife. Arko's death had been messy…_sloppy_ even. This makes me want to wash the blood off me, but I'm not about to waste the bottled water on something so trivial.

Mom loved me, and knew I could do this. Tena told me to trust my instincts. Etcher said to let it all roll off my back…it was only a game. It was Dyne's words, that I now clung to as I sat there on the ground, exposed, perhaps stupidly-so, on the plateau. _You're so much stronger than I am, Herod._

Even with the sun rapidly sliding out of view over the western horizon at the far other end of the Arena, it is still quite warm. Fortunately some of the mugginess which had existed earlier was gone. My stomach growls up at me as I let go some of my heaviest of thoughts, and examine just how quiet it is. I am without fire, shelter, or really any food to speak of, save the hard candies I'd picked off of…the District Six tribute. I didn't want to acknowledge him as a person any longer, I truly did not. I was running with the wolves now, I must disassociate myself—I had to try.

Hearing a soft noise, I pass it off initially, until I determine that it seems to be something that _isn't_ trying to make any noise.

My internal alarms go springing off wildly, and the knife's blade is clicked out instantaneously. The shadows gather and make it extremely difficult to know where the noise is coming from. I could risk standing up, but presently I ought to be obscured in the shade of the nearby bushes I'm sitting between.

Perhaps thirty of the most intense seconds of my life pass. Every muscle in my body is seized up and bunched tight, like a snake about to strike. I draw my legs back, and eventually I am down on one knee, turning slowly from one side to the other as I hear more small things. It didn't quite sound like bird or a mammal…

A rolling cackle rolls down upon me from overhead. I flinch and slash out with the switchblade, hearing myself breathe. What the fuck! It didn't sound human, but that doesn't assuage my fears _at all_. Something cackles at me from overhead once more, and that's it. Hurt or not, I jump up and begin backing away from the bushes and trees. In the deepening twilight, I can't see what lurks in the shadows.

The sound is positively grotesque, whatever the hell it is, and as it sounds off again, this time closer, my fears get the best of me and I turn and run.

Dark blues, purples, greens, blues all whir past me as I dart across the plateau, hearing that awful noise now for the fourth time. It's chasing me.

Blindly I pick up speed, half-tripping over myself I manage to keep myself from falling flat onto my face. A higher, more feral sound ushers in from my right, and I spin crazily toward it, very aware I am still holding the switchblade. This newest noise is more like a dog's bark, except I've never heard a dog like that.

I'm out of here. I can't stand it…whatever it is, it's not going to catch me without a chase. I run headlong around the bushes coming up on me, hearing the bark, and I perceive the cackle again. Help me.

I feel blind. I tear across the landscape, whipping into a few brambles on my way, but I don't even care. Something is chasing me, and I'm not going to let it find me.

I crash terrifically into something big and solid, and I go spinning to the ground, my switchblade knocked from my hand. I hear voices, and I go scrambling on the ground for my weapon, to no avail. Something slams into my side, and I go sprawling to the ground.

I roll over, and see a distinctly human shape looming over me in the shadows. Out of the corner of my eye, I see they aren't alone. A flash of metal coming at me and I have no recourse. Just like that, I'm going to die.


	8. Tarried

"Wait!"

The voice is too high pitched to belong to a guy, and it stills on the near-dark air and crystallized there. Panting, I look up and see the peculiar shape of the metal hovering somewhere over me, and then I make out further features. An arm, a torso, a neck…though the face is difficult to determine given my supine position, it definitely belongs to a male.

"Who is it. You'd better talk fast, or I'm killing you." Spat out whoever the guy was, but I was certain it couldn't have been Knox, his voice was lower than this. It couldn't have been Haw either, it didn't have enough twang in it. One of the Careers? Like they were going to spare me.

I don't respond right away, for I wonder how it is I can see the metal in his hands, but no definite features of his hand, or anything else. "Herod." I finally manage to cough up, every muscle in my body tight and twitchy as hell. I could probably plant my foot in his crotch, and then maybe try and make a run for it. I was pretty sure I felt something skitter over my hand, which made me want to yank it back, but currently it and my other we supporting most of my weight.

"Herod!" came a vaguely familiar voice, the girl again. It can't be Farah, I know her voice. Unless maybe everything _has_ changed since I've been in the arena. Was it her?

I can tell someone is moving closer to me, and I might've tried to come up with a few more possibilities, except without my knife, thin and small as it was, I was certainly going to die. "I can't see you. Oh Jesus…" the girl whispered, and I know without asking she must've been able to determine some of my grisly appearance. "You're covered in blood." Her voice, whoever she was, dropped like a stone.

They could see me better than I could see them, and at this…I shift up slowly to my feet. Out from under the shadow of the bushes, I can see them for who they really are. Cynthia from District Ten stands before me, and next to her, closer to six foot, the kid from District Twelve. He's holding some kind of chisel-looking object, though he has lowered it to his side. This hardly means he can't use it. I wouldn't let it go, if I were him, that's for damn sure.

I might've much rather seen some combination of Farah, Knox, Motum, or Lurie, but I would take what I could get. All I needed was to find my knife, so if they pulled anything, I could at least try and maim one, maybe trip the other, and scamper away before they could do any lasting damage.

"Y-yeah…" I manage shakily toward Cynthia, and even in the near darkness, I can make out her features at this close of a range. Short dark hair, bigger eyes, it was her—though without the easy-going smile I was used to seeing. "I'm alright." Naturally the wound on my shoulder throbbed horrendously just then, seeking to prove me wrong.

"You're by yourself?" the kid from Twelve says, his head turning slightly to glance around.

"Yes. I—"

Another whimpering bark sound, ricocheting up through the air and freezing us all in our places. This sound was creepy enough, but did not hold a candle to whatever the hell had…cackled at me, a little further back, closer to the tree line. I can see they are both on edge. Was Cynthia just like Arko, waiting for me to drop my guard, and then attack? My gut should've told me no—unequivocally _no_, but I wasn't sure just what I knew right now.

"C'mon, lets get away from here, get out in the open." Suggested the guy from District Twelve whose name was escaping me right now. He was younger than me, but taller—go figure, right?

"I dropped my knife." I say without really thinking. Then again, was it really much different from them knowing I had a knife, considering I couldn't use it right now?

"I've got one." Cynthia says to me. "Noah's right…we can see if something is creeping up on us that way."

Regrettably I left my little switchblade somewhere on the ground. It had saved my life, whatever else I might want to say about the push-button knife. Following Cynthia and Noah—that's right his name is Noah—out and away from the heaviest line of shrubs and trees, I can see we're still far enough back on the plateau that we aren't in danger of falling off the edge or anything.

The moon was out, but behind a dense curtain of clouds. So thick that it was actually making it much darker out here than it probably needed to be. My mind was still racing, but my heartbeat had slowed a bit. I could try to tackle Noah and take his hammer, but Cynthia apparently had a knife herself. Hadn't she just gotten a three from the Gamemakers? The fact that every person I'd come across was armed, was not lost on me. I really had hauled ass away from that hill, seemingly faster than most everyone else.

The three of us stand there, glancing around us to ensure that nothing was going to sneak up on us. Eventually it was Cynthia who suggests that we stay back to back, sitting or standing, so that nothing can jump out at us. Currently my view was more toward the ridge of where our plateau headed back down to where I'd killed Arko.

"Have you seen anybody else?" Noah gets out, right as the same question was ruminating in my own mind but simply had not gotten to my lips yet.

I remember the odd weight in the cargo pocket of my pants contains my plastic bottle mostly full of water. Surely there's not enough in there to keep all three of us sated. They could kill me for my water bottle; I've seen tributes killed for less.

"Yeah." I hear myself saying. I should've lied. Unequivocally. Why the fuck I didn't lie, was beyond me. Maybe because I was hurting and exhausted, but that's still no excuse. If I was with Farah, Wren, or Knox, _Wren especially_, wouldn't have believed me if I were to say no. Cynthia and Noah, I might've been able to get away with it.

I sense Noah tense up a bit, and even if he's no rocket scientist, I am relatively he's a little quicker on the uptake than Cynthia there, all good-hearted and all.

"Where are they?" Cynthia asks.

Oh now it's out, isn't it? The silence is positively deafening, as my arm throbs at me while my body aches a bit as I am so focused on having enough energy to spring up and run, if necessary. Noah is quiet, not that I'd blame him.

"Down there." I say a bit hollowly.

More silence and I wonder if I'll be getting a knife in the back, or perhaps that hammer-looking thing to the side of my skull, thanks to Noah?

"_Who_ was it?" Cynthia's voice squeaks out after what seemed like minutes, but surely hadn't been that long.

"He tried to kill me." I say. This is hardly how I would've liked our conversation to begin, but it seemed that my luck wasn't going to hold out forever. "Tricked me. Pulled a knife on me."

"Man…" Noah says slowly, and I can hear the sympathy in his voice.

Just that, makes my jaw hurt, and my tear ducts react. The fact that he wouldn't vilify me immediately, and I had a few tears falling down my face. Luckily neither of them could've seen, and I can't quite believe it myself. I hardly ever cry at home—I mean hardly _ever_. It may not even be a yearly event. "Umm," I say, and hearing my voice quiver a little bit of course makes me want to cry more intently. Holding it in makes it worse, but my younger company is thankfully silent as I swallow back the tightness in my throat.

I am a mess. I should've ran, I should've been paying attention to where the hell I was going. I shouldn't have dropped the knife. I should've lied about where I'd been. I shouldn't be crying right now. My brain can't seem to catch up with the fact that all these things, while seemingly bad, might turn out to be something positive. "Arko, he shows up and asks me if I've seen anybody. Then he asks me where the water is, and as I go to tell him, he stabs me."

"Are you alright?" I hear Cynthia's voice, and I feel her hand go and clamp around my forearm. The gesture is sweet, but I still find myself yanking away from her grasp as if she were a viper. I really don't mean to, it just happens. A nice girl like Cynthia from District Ten, asking me if I'm alright…makes me feel my emotions all welling up again.

"Doesn't surprise me." Noah says.

"Really?" I ask.

"Kenna said she didn't trust him. Yeah, she was paranoid about everyone, but she seemed to think that he was going to do something crazy as soon as he had the chance." Noah pauses a moment and then adds, his voice not quite breaking, although I can it's not far off. "She's dead."

"I'm sorry." I say again, without even thinking. It is genuine…I can't play any games right now. I know Roman would be ashamed of me probably, but I just can't manage it right now. I can't lie, I can't guard my responses. I should be leaping for joy that I've actually found some friendly allies…but everything seems a little different to me now. It's like I'm experiencing everything through a screen.

"I saw the boy from District Three get killed." Cynthia admits to the pair of us in the deepening evening. My eyes are getting more adjusted to the darkness, and now I can pick out a few more things in the landscape. Few stars though…the skies are just too cloudy for that. "Gage, that guy from One. He killed him." It seemed like there was more to that story, or more she was going to share, but I didn't push her. It was much easier to admit all of this to each other's backs. You didn't have to see people give you compassionate expressions, or avoid your eyes for pity's sake.

"I got this rock hammer from by the Cornucopia. That black kid from Eleven,"

In unison both Cynthia and I both say, "_Pord_."

"Yeah. He got it first, but I grabbed it from him, and kicked him down. Didn't see what happened from there, I ran as fast I could. I think I saw Knox and Motum, though I can't be sure. Saw the little blonde from District Five too. She started right by me. Haven't seen her since, though."

Little Lurie Sampson…the girl with the light up dress. She was shy, even shier than me. I hoped she was alive, I really did. With my tear tracts dry, I just hoped she'd not been killed yet. Or if she had, it had been quick.

"This knife I have, it's cause that Career from District Two was throwing it at Farah." Cynthia's voice is tight.

All of a sudden I feel as though a 500 pound weight has knocked me to the ground, and I even slouch forward, stretching the wound on my arm a bit so it flares up horrendously. Fine, I'm glad for the pain, because I do not want to process…anything…like that.

"I didn't see her go down or anything. She was running, _fast_. If it weren't for her, I think that Career would've seen me…there's no way I would've escaped. I can't run that fast." Cynthia shares with us.

"Hey." Noah says and I feel him shift a bit, sharpening his voice. "You can run just fine."

Here were these kids…both younger than me, who'd managed to get some weapons from the Cornucopia and at least saw a Career or two. I had ran away like a coward. Somewhere inside my head I can see Roman saying: _a smart coward_; but a coward none the less.

"Haven't seen anyone since over by the Cornucopia." Cynthia says.

"Me either." Noah echoes.

"I saw a couple of people going down into that circular valley thing, back over there…" I say, attempting to get the image of Farah dying out of my mind. What if she'd died like Arko had? My teeth hurt at the thought. I feel my lips pinching together and I cough, just to try and stave off such a thought.

"That's where I saw Cynthia."

"Yeah, but we didn't go down there. Looked too risky."

"Of course it does." I say, shaking any gory pictures of Farah's potentially mangled corpse from my mind's eye. "Same reason I didn't head down there."

"It's weird Arko wasn't with Wren." Noah is saying.

I really can't blame him, it's probably just what came to mind, but I really wish he'd not mention anything about District Six if he could help it at all. "Dunno." I say.

"She got an Eight. She's probably not dead." Cynthia intones.

"How do you figure?" Noah asks her. He doesn't say it, but somehow I know that Noah thought of the girl from Six, due to her beauty. Those blue eyes and dark hair, it was a good combination, to be sure. Cynthia here was nice looking, sure, but Wren was a beauty.

"She isn't dead." Cynthia says with conviction.

For some reason I can't help myself from agreeing with her statement. Wren was extremely impressive all-around. Intelligent, clever, well-spoken. She knew how to dress field wounds. Even if the Careers found her, it'd be to their advantage to try and take her prisoner, than just kill her. It sounded good to believe that Wren was still noble to the cause, and just Arko had been a devious little bastard.

Wait…what cause? Was there even any cause left? Part of me could say most definitely there _was_. Here I was relaxing for perhaps the first time during these Hunger Games, with two people I'd pledged to remain allies with. But some part of me wondered if Knox's idea wasn't all for naught. Nice sounding in theory, sure, but I'd already killed one of my supposed 'allies'. What Noah, Cynthia, and I were doing right now, was it really being _allies_? Or was it just the three of us happy to not have to kill one another just yet?

"Haw's alive too, I can feel it." Cynthia says. I would feel good for her and Haw…they were both nice people, but all this does is make my mind return to Farah. So she was a fast…_good_. Still if the Careers were hunting her down, she had better have amassed some allies, or come up with some plan of attack. Cynthia and Noah are talking to each other but my mind is drifting. I've never felt like this in my entire life. It's as though my brain cannot focus on a single thing, it is like I'm experiencing 20 things simultaneously.

At least ten, maybe twenty—perhaps thirty minutes go by as I nestle in by Cynthia and Noah. Once again, I am surprised by the tributes that I have seen alive. Between the two of them and Arko, I just never would've figured on seeing them in the Arena. Somehow I got a set list in my mind of the tributes I'd be interacting with, and Cynthia, Noah, and even Arko…none of 'em had made the list.

"…stepped off the platform too soon." I hear Noah saying as I come out of my head. "She got her legs blown off."

"Oh my God." Cynthia says, which doesn't help the situation, as my mind sprawls back to the very beginning of these Games.

Kenna. That's who the brunette was that I saw disappear. She'd stepped off her...oh man. That explains the quake I felt, or why the kid from Three, who apparently is now dead too, was looking so jumpy. Kenna was screaming bloody murder because her legs had been blown off. We'd been informed that is what would happen if you left your post before the full minute had passed. "I saw her…" I whisper out, entirely without my recollection.

Cynthia's hand slides down over my forearm again, but this time I don't pull away. It feels foreign, but as her fingers twist and slide down my blood-caked arm, she gives my hand a squeeze. I find myself turning to find her in the darkness, but she seems just out of eye-sight so I give up, and instead give hers a squeeze back. I try to disengage our hands with the slightest of pressure, but she's got hers clamped onto mine.

Noah says, "At least we're still—"

A cannon blast makes us all pay attention. Less than a minute after that clarion sound, the first notes of the national anthem silence Noah entirely. Cynthia's hand slowly dislodges itself from mine, and I can sense both of them turning more my direction, to get a better view at the interior of the Arena. The pain in my arm goes away, and I notice just how clear the skies are. Suddenly I see plenty of stars winking down at us, and I'd not even bothered to notice how that had been accomplished.

Eventually the seal of Panem slips away, and on a projected screen, not unlike the one I now-knew to exist at the edges of this Arena, the first face is cast down upon us all. It is the kid from District Three, the one who I'd seen at the start of the Games and who Cynthia had seen die. He looked almost bored in his headshot. Next was Bells, the redhead from Three who'd sat next to me on the stage after my interview with Caesar.

My mind is still anxious to see Farah or for the oddest reason, Wren, but before that can occur I see none other than Tecla's lovely face smiling slightly down at me. With her lidded eyes and big mouth slightly curved, it's as though she knows a secret that I don't.

"_Ha!_" Cynthia shouts into the darkness around us, and I hear Noah make a soft amused noise, and I myself cannot help but smile. I'm actually smiling. It could be construed sick as to just _why_ I am smiling, but I am not looking a gift horse in the mouth right now. Tecla was dead. Good.

This means that her rat-faced District mate was still alive. Damn it. Maybe Tecla's death had just been some kind of fluke? All these thoughts hiss out like fire in the rain, as I see Motum's almond shaped eyes, and handsome features looking almost challengingly down at me. The fact that Cynthia lets out an audible little sound of regret doesn't make that any easier. Noah doesn't seem to have any strong reaction, but who didn't like the Asian kid with the awesome sense of humor? What was there _not_ to like! I brace myself to see Lurie's face next, but I do not.

I cannot celebrate the fact that Lurie hadn't succumbed to the same fate as Motum for long. Arko's face looking down at me from behind his glasses. He looks studious, clever, and alert in his picture. Seeing him makes my stomach turn, but I can't seem to look away even as it seems to me that the Capitol is keeping his face in the sky for an excessive amount of time.

The ugly guy from District Seven is shown next. Another Career was dead. I don't really know if he could be considered a Career, but he wasn't with _us_…so he was better off dead.

"Two Careers." Noah says, sounding genuinely impressed. My own sentiments weren't far off.

As Wendell's long horsy face fades from view, my stomach turns to granite. If Farah was dead, she'd be next.

Daisy Woodruff is gazing down upon us all instead, and I finally take a breath. It isn't right to shortchange Daisy's death, she seemed like an alright girl when I'd spoken with her, but the fact that Farah was alive washes over me like water. My muscles become slack and I realize I'm leaning back, almost into Noah, so I correct my posture. "Shit." He says. Obviously Noah must've had some better talks with her than I'd ever gotten with the girl.

Next is Pord, from Eleven. He looks very good in his headshot—far better than I'd ever seen him appear in real life. He is not smiling, but he looks at ease. I suppose…he is certainly at _ease_, now. His unattractive, dishwater blonde fellow tribute from Eleven winks into the sky right afterward. I cannot remember her name, but the hard part is over. When Kenna's face shows up with it's beyond green eyes, my face falls away. Not because I mean to be disrespectful, nor because I simply can't look…it is relief. Selfishly, even as Noah is right there, it is selfish relief. Farah Gilderling was looking up at these same faces, somewhere. Finally I come back to reality a little bit.

"Ten dead." Noah is saying, as I do.

"Means there's fourteen left." Cynthia responds. A moment and then her sweet voice adds, "Eight of _us_, just six of _them_."

I couldn't have kept track that accurately, but finally my brain catches up and I decide she's right. Unless of course Wren has defected, and is working with the Careers either by choice or by necessity. We still had Knox, Farah, Haw, and Lurie for sure…possibly Wren as well. The odds could've been stacked against us a whole lot worse. Yes we'd lost some people from our side, but so had they.

As Noah starts to pump us up with encouraging words, I am thankful for the boy some place he calls The Seam. Sounds to me more like what one of our prefectures ought to be called in Eight. I couldn't have managed to be as positive, and here…I hadn't even lost my district-mate. I knew I was not as good of a person as Noah, same went for Cynthia. I just wasn't. I hoped Wren was no traitor. Already, the Careers' six was a _strong_ six. They really didn't need to be picking up any smart, pretty blue-eyed girls who could play field nurse.

This left myself, Cynthia, Noah, Farah, Knox, Lurie, Haw, and possibly Wren. Hopefully the other four were together. Just like us, if they were besieged by all six Careers, their chances of living were nominal. Still I built up a nice little scheme in my head. Knox would be the leader of course, and Farah or Wren would substantiate themselves as the second in command. Haw would be the comic relief, even if he didn't do so knowingly. Lurie would just be quiet and along for the ride...at least she still had a ride left.

"We should try and find them." Cynthia declared.

"Wait a minute…" I say, as I turn and see Noah already looking enthused. "We don't know what's out there. We have no idea where the Careers are." Earlier Noah had mentioned he was 14…and I knew Cynthia to be 16. Even if I was just older than her, I could tell I had a bit more life experience, and, not to be crass, more on the ball.

"But if the Careers find them…or us…we're screwed!" Cynthia said with passion behind her hazel eyes. "I've got a knife, he's got a rock hammer…and somewhere you've got your knife over there. If the Careers find us, we're dead."

"Hopefully Knox or Wren or someone found some good weapons, maybe some food." Noah says, and all of our stomachs growl on cue.

I tell them, "Right, we have to hope that. If the others aren't together, that's bad. We have to stick together. It is too dangerous to go looking right now. We shouldn't even build a fire. Up here it'll give our location away."

"Yeah…as if we could anyway." Noah says, but I know it isn't said with disdain. I am happy that he and Cynthia are letting me take over, even if I'd been the sad sack as recently as 20 minutes ago. They both listen to me.

"We'll have to get some sleep, we'd better take shifts. I know we don't have any food, so we'll have to go hunting in the morning. I've got Arko's glasses. If the sun cooperates, we can use them as a lens to start a fire. It won't be as obvious in the daylight, and if we hide it closer to the trees, maybe the Careers won't see the smoke. On the other hand," I stop to take a breath, "If we want to risk it, we could try and attract the attention of the others with our smoke."

Cynthia is looking impressed, solidarity in her eyes.

"But they won't know if it's us or the Careers." Noah says.

"True." I admit, and am growing more impressed with the gray-eyed 14 year old, taller than me or not, by the minute. "We're safe up here, but there's no water."

"Maybe it'll rain." Cynthia says.

"I hope so." I smile at her, and I see her returning it more prominently than I even expected. Despite her shorter hairstyle, Cynthia Reid was cute.

Noah was saying, "We've really got to get something to eat. We had a nutrition bar that got knocked out of Pord's hands too…but we already split it."

I thought of the three hard candies in my own pocket. They might be a little bit of sugar, but they definitely were not going to sustain even one of us, let alone all three. If I had received a nutrition bar, I certainly wouldn't have already eaten it! It was pointless to get upset though. Cynthia was sweet, but not the brightest crayon in the box. Noah was smarter, but after all he was just 14. Three years younger than me…but those are three pretty important years. Wren was an _old_ sixteen. Cynthia, not so much.

Cynthia and Noah get into a sudden conversation about food, which makes my stomach gurgle all the more, so I tune them out.

Chances were, the five non-Careers were not playing Swiss Family Robinson somewhere in the jungle. It seemed logical that one or two of them might be together, maybe even three…but all five, probably not. I hoped that Farah had found someone. Any of them would do really.

Knox was very smart, capable, and strong. Wren could be invaluable as a medic, as well as being clever and adept at a variety of things. Haw may not have been a genius, but he was a swifter than Cynthia, not to mention that he'd posted a 7 for the Gamemakers. Obviously he could do _something_. He didn't strike me as a slouch, in any regard. Even Lurie…she would remind Farah of her sister. Farah had told me that she was the loud one in her family. Obviously the Gilderling's weren't the loudest on the block. Lurie would be good company for Farah, I was certain of it; that alone could be invaluable to maintaining one's sanity.

_I_ was the one with the semi-rejects, to be painfully truthful. Still they had accepted me with all of my glaring faults, ones I was quite literally wearing on me right now. Well…maybe that was just survival, and not a fault, after all.

We had not heard any of the noises since we'd been talking fairly regular. Was that the key? If something was totally awful, it seemed like our noise would just attract it. The three of us _seemed_ to be safe for the time being.

That's the problem with impressions, though.

* * *

><p>A deep, quenching rain had covered the entire Arena. The droplets smacking off the leaves we'd used not only to hide just under their waxy boughs, but Noah had made a makeshift sort of funnel, to refill my water bottle. I'd downed the entire contents once, then we refilled it, and Cynthia had a turn, followed by Noah. With the water coming down so furiously, the plastic bottle filled up remarkably fast. Both Cynthia and I had drank two complete bottles of water, and by the look of it, Noah was about to get his second very soon.<p>

"We really could use another one of these." I remark, tugging my t-shirt back on as the wet material slaps against my body. I have to gingerly arrange it down over my upper right arm, the stab wound inflicted there not big, but deep. Apparently there were worse places to get stabbed, than in your arm. This wasn't said to either Cynthia nor Noah, but more to myself, and perhaps Roman who might be watching? Of course I really could use a gun, or some proper food, but for now another bottle would suffice. What about Cynthia's sponsors, or Noah's? I hoped they had some.

In the light of day, it had been Cynthia's keen eyesight that had spotted the switchblade. To my delight, but also some to my trepidation, she'd agreed to let me hang onto the hunting knife, while she'd take possession of the switchblade. This seemed almost needlessly giving—even if we were allies now, that didn't mean we always would be. Sure that switchblade had saved my life, but compared to the all-black, far sturdier knife I now possessed with it's comfortable hand grip and all, not to mention it's carrying case which I'd already tied around my lower leg, Cynthia had definitely wound up on the losing side of that transaction.

We'd caught and killed some small frightened thing which looked a bit like a squirrel, except that it had larger ears and an even bushier tail. That in of itself had been somewhat comical, with the three of us chasing it from tree to tree. It was not as though these tropical things could be climbed. They were far too spindly to support even Cynthia's weight, she'd already tried.

It was bigger than a squirrel, but not by much. With it's fur and all, the thing might've been roughly the size of a small cat, but it didn't have as much meat on it's bones. It would've been nice to have a gut hook on my hunting knife, but for something this small, it wasn't really necessary. I had been outvoted, and therefore had to hold off on skinning the creature. Noah and Cynthia seemed to think the rain would stop, the sun would come out, and we'd be able to get a fire going. I knew it wouldn't be good for morale to start handing down declarations; better to save whatever power I possessed as 'leader' for when it was even more important.

Eating this thing raw, was going to be horrible…I could already tell. There wasn't much fat on it, so the meat was going to be sinewy and stringy. Raw, it was going to be just awful. Still at least we were getting water, and that is even more important than food. Noah's funneling system worked well, and I watched him guzzle out of my water bottle in one fell swoop, before setting up the 'funnel' once more. From the look of things, the skies didn't seem to be clearing off anytime soon, but I remember how quickly they had cleared off for the anthem last night.

Was this rain real, or engineered by the Gamemakers? Reminded me of the futility of trying to plan on much of anything in here. We were all rats in a maze, which they could alter at any given moment.

Cynthia had only incurred a couple of scratches and abrasions, nothing too terrible. Noah had gotten a couple of deep gouges across his shin, and another, lighter one, by his ankle. He'd described the animal as something like a big weasel. From the looks of it, Noah was lucky that he'd gotten away from the thing, whatever the hell it had been. He tells us that it had chased him, just before he met up with Cynthia.

The meat we'd caught had wanted nothing more than to get away from us. I thought of the peacock, and then of the spider. That peacock had been very standoffish, while the spider I'd killed yesterday, had run right back for me once I'd kicked it away. The animal who'd gashed Noah seemed to exhibit similar characteristics. No spider I knew was going to chase down prey that was a hundred times bigger than it. How were we to know which animals were going to attack on sight, and which weren't?

If they run right _at _you, you probably know. A tricky game to play, but how else were you to determine something like that?

I hear Noah explaining that he knows a thing or two about dynamite. Apparently his older brother and father work in the mines. Good to know…except that we didn't have any dynamite lying around. Noah has a twin sister named Catie. Cynthia had no brothers or sisters. I eventually tell my allies about my own sister, which makes me miss her and my entire family and all my friends very strongly. I push it from my mind best as I can, watching my water bottle slowly but surely fill up to the quarter full point, and slowly beyond.

A black shape clips across the sky from somewhere above us, out over the lip of the plateau we're on, the rain battering it's wings and making it look entirely silly.

"That poor thing. Don't birds know better than to stay put?" Cynthia says. My first thought is that if it hadn't been moving so fast, we could've tried to catch it and eat it. We need as much protein as possible.

I decide that I like her much better out of the Arena, than in. Back at the Training Center she'd been funny and easy-going. In here she seemed unabashedly well…_girly_. Still she'd held my hand last night, and I couldn't help but feel closer with her, than with Noah. He was the better ally, undoubtedly, but while I had no reason to dislike Noah, something about his personality fell flat for me. Noah was not _too much_ of anything. This was both a good and a bad thing.

"That's a _bat_." Noah says assuredly. "We get them, back home."

Makes sense…those things going to roost last night hadn't been _strange birds_, they were bats. Again I had to be thankful that it didn't dive bomb us or something. Seemed like for the time being, we were on easy street.

"Still, don't bats have brains enough not to fly when it's raining?" Cynthia challenges with a chuckle.

As she and Noah talk some more, that gets my mind thinking and I hop up, surveying our surrounding area more carefully. This plateau has denser jungle to the north. The only easy way of getting up here, seems to be the way I, and my companions had gotten here. I couldn't be certain about the northern side, but from my vantage point, all other sides of this plateau were too steep to climb.

If the Careers were smart, they'd be moving while it rained. Everyone's instincts would be to stay in one place until it stops. We were sitting ducks up here. If they started climbing up after us, what were our options? Stay and fight, or throw ourselves off the side of the cliff down into the valley below.

Amidst the rain, Noah goes off to relieve himself and I am sitting there, still rather wet with just Cynthia Reid from District Ten. She's looking at me curiously, but I am almost certain that whatever it is that's on her mind, it isn't of particular importance. I like Cynthia, I really do, but even if by some miracle she and I were the final two tributes, one would have to kill the other—that's how the Games are played. My mind falls to thinking, if Noah were to die, there'd be one less mouth to feed…one less person to worry about. It's awful, but I cannot help myself it seems. Noah is the better ally, but the Hunger Games aren't really about making allies…not when all is said and done. Better that he die here and now, then Cynthia can be picked off later, easily.

I'm almost certain there is no Hell, but if there is…I must be going to it. Good people don't have thoughts like this, they just don't.

"I'm so happy we found you." Cynthia tells me, and she's smiling that effervescent smile of hers. She's playing around with Noah's rock hammer, sinking the head into the mushy ground.

"So am I." It isn't a complete lie. I am happy that they found me, forgave me, and allowed me to lead them in whatever way I thought was best. But, if I am going to get serious about these Hunger Games, and I've pretty much not deviated one second from anything but being serious.

"We're just so lucky to have found you, Herod. I don't know what we would've done, if…"

Cynthia's proclamation is cut short, and we both jump to our feet amidst screams from the nearby jungle. My heart is hammering into my throat, and on instinct, I snatch up my bottle of water, the funnel of leaves spilling to the ground. Half a second later, even with my arm throbbing, I snatch up the carcass of the thing we'd caught. I see movement, and seconds later, the funnel's designer comes charging from the bushes, half holding his pants up as he screams, "Run, run!"

Cynthia has already turned and begins heading toward the lip of the plateau, when the same rolling cackle descends down upon us, attacking our ears. The sound almost makes me drop everything in my hands, but as I stuff the bottle of water into my pocket, I bother to look back.

There is a dark shape emerging from the densest part of the jungle, and I turn tail, and run my ass off. As I arrive at the edge of the sloppy terrain, I can see Cynthia already vaulting herself down the side. I see her slip and tumble, but catch herself vaguely on the waterlogged slant of the hill. Noah's eyes are wide as they briefly meet mine, before he throws his legs out, and starts sliding down the mud-laden wall of earth.

My knife is still in it's sheath on my shin, but once I hear the rolling cackle, low and undulating it sparks my muscles into movement and I am soon following after Noah. Everything becomes a mess, as I go siding and scraping down the embankment with startling velocity. Mud is splattering up into my face, and then my stomach drops down into my throat as I go tumbling wildly through the air, before I land onto hard ground.

Wind squeezed from my lungs, I gasp and splutter like a fish on the riverbank, dizzy and uncertain of just what had transpired. I hear Noah coughing somewhere, or at least I think it's him. In my dim view of the world around me, I slip over onto my side, shaking as I look up to where we'd been. Just a shadow of something, looking down at me through the sense veil of rain. Though I cannot see it's eyes, I know it _sees_ me. We watch each other, and then it is gone.

Moments pass as the rain beats down upon me, plastering everything I own against me. Swallowing deep, getting a bit of rainwater mixed in, I see Noah lying there, face-down but he's slowly turning to face me. Nearby Cynthia is flat on her back. All of us escaped the…oh why hadn't _it _followed us? And just what the hell _was_ that thing! It moved as fast as we did, that's for fucking sure. We were all safe. This was welcome news.

At least until I realize that I don't think Cynthia is moving.


	9. Hard Candy

"Cyn—Cynthia." I say, as I make my way over to where she lay, covered in mud. Nearby Noah is managing to crawl and muster his way over as well. Nearby him is the carcass of the arboreal creature we'd killed on the plateau. As to how it'd ended up by him, I can only deduce. Things were probably scattered as we went fall and sliding down the hill.

"_Cynthia!_" he shouts, and I have to wonder if he's completely forgotten the fact that the…whatever the hell that thing was up there on the plateau, had almost caught us. Now that Noah's here, I am looking around frantically, and just to be on the safe side, I release my hunting knife from it's sheath and I hold the black blade anxiously.

"She's breathing!" he shouts at me, and I see him lean in closer to her face. My facilities are coming back to me.

I am lucky that I didn't break a leg, or get knocked unconscious. The rain is still pelting over me, as well as over Noah and Cynthia.

Water courses down my face now, in deep rivulets and I blow it out of my mouth. It seems that the rainstorm has intensified, if anything from just moments ago. "Get her over onto her stomach."

"Why!" Noah yells at me frantic-like.

"Might be water in her mouth, or something." The ground here is becoming quite saturated. If the rain kept up like this, flash flood might not be a term that would be out of the question.

Noah grapples around with Cynthia. Even if I am more thickly built than him, he is no 100 pound weakling. It does not pose much of a problem for the kid from Twelve at all. Cynthia might be a buck fifteen soaking wet; as she surely is right now, no doubt.

Still gripping the knife, I spit some more water off my lips and I skim the edge of where the three of us had camped last night, trying to make out any more eerie shadows through the rain. I see nothing, but I practically scream myself when Noah's voice comes darting up from nowhere.

"She's like a sack of beans or something. She's all…limp and shit. Herod!" He demands, and I see Cynthia being turned over in his hands like a broken down marionette.

Now I am moving over to him, both Noah and my hands moving around on Cynthia, gingerly…because if she has broken something, I don't want to do any damage. Noah seems to acknowledge this as well, but as he's trying to see if she's breathing or not, I go feeling for a pulse. Her body is like cooked spaghetti, her flesh wet but warm. At first I don't feel a pulse, so panicking, I go gripping around her wrist, trying to find anything.

"Oh shit…Cynthia, come on.." Noah is pleading, and I leave him unbroken in this.

Even as I am feeling for any sign of life, my brain is caught in the web, accepting that if Cynthia were in fact dead, it would be another tribute I wouldn't have to worry about. My mind analyzes this, and weighs it against the possibility of us having face the Careers, all as I still am trying to feel a heartbeat. Do I have one myself?

There. Right there. A slow, steady throb. "She's alive." I pitch out to Noah, who now grows quiet. Definitely, there is a pulse in her hand.

"Shit, man, we've got to get out of this rain," Noah says exasperatedly, blowing water off his face in doing so.

"Fine, you carry her. I'll watch out." I say, and watch Noah pick Cynthia up, and start heading off in the direction of the closest canopy. It is alarmingly close to where I'd ended Arko's life, but surely by now his body would've been collected. I see the carcass, and the rock hammer. Sweeping down with my hands, feeling a bit light-headed as I do so, I nab both the weapon and the carcass. Might look beyond stupid to anyone not in my situation, but as I pinch the handle of the hammer down and into the waistband of my khaki pants, I am just thankful that I'd remembered to grab in amidst the commotion. Cynthia was passed out from the looks of it…and I follow Noah to where he's headed.

Didn't Sera, the middle-aged bag I worked with say something about some guy named Noah, and a flood? She would get preachy about God, and the afterlife. Sera and I got into it on a few occasions, as I'd been all-too-willing to break it to her that, when we died…we died. That was all. No pearly gates. Just dead. I barely listened to half of the shit that came spewing out of her mouth at any given time.

If I want to escape with the kill, now is the time. I have the knife, the rock hammer, the carcass. Something told me that if I were to dash away right now, Noah wouldn't even bother to try and chase me.

Maybe it is this reason, that I follow him in and amongst the twisting vines and brambles. The canopy here isn't very distinct, but the sheer volume of living crap around here, makes a pretty decent blanket to keep the water off. I watch as Noah sets Cynthia down, and wonder if maybe I shouldn't be doing that? I'm the senior person here and yet I am letting Noah take care of it. "She probably just passed out." I tell him, not entirely convinced myself. I am not Wren—I do not know about how the body reacts to stuff. At the same time, I had the wind knocked from me, stands to reason someone smaller and weaker, might actually be thrown unconscious.

I get a sudden chill that shakes across my shoulders and my eyes prowl in between the vines. Nothing's watching us…must just be my conscience leaving my body for good, or something. Cynthia was a nice girl. She'd given me the hunting knife I was in current possession of. Still seeing here down there looking bedraggled, sopping wet, and nearly still, Noah quiet and looming over her, I can't help but feel like I didn't need to be here.

I hadn't taken my first chance to run, but maybe now I ought to? No…where the hell was I going to go? The rain made navigation nearly impossible. Eventually I go and crouch down by where Noah has planted himself on the ground. What should I hope for? If Cynthia is dead, then that's awful. But the bigger part of my mind, comes to the realization that if she is, better to go this way than…well, there were plenty of less appealing options. Everyone's going to die, except for one of us. That is the cold, hard truth.

"What else can we do for her?" Noah asks me.

I don't know. Pray? Surely not. Praying is for suckers. I can tell the look on my face must've been devoid of anything remotely encouraging, because Noah just looks back down to Cynthia. I glance back up toward the plateau, but given our distance and the rain which is still coming in hard, I see nothing. Whatever…that thing _was_…it better stay the fuck up there on the plateau.

A least a couple of minutes pass, with both Noah and I hovering near Cynthia; she hasn't regained consciousness it would seem. Just when I think that maybe Noah is going to maintain some sort of silent vigil, until the girl from District Ten wakes up, he starts talking.

"I didn't even want to go up there in the first place!" he yells at me, as though I had anything to do with it. "Cynthia thought we ought to check it out. I don't know what the hell that thing was…"

"Me either." I glance upward and around us. "Let's hope it isn't coming down from there anytime soon." I was heartless, but apparently not heartless enough. If Cynthia didn't awaken, I knew that Noah and I would need to get moving. I could've killed him right here and now, pretty easily I think. But I could not seem to keep my mind in that head space for long.

"You want to leave her, don't you?" Noah looks at me, his eyes visibly gray even in the dim, rainy light.

I watch him for a couple of moments, and while maybe it should've been all the more apparent how the 14 year old and I are different, I end up seeing more of myself in him all of a sudden. "If she isn't going to wake up, yes. Staying in one place for too long is stupid. There's a whole lot of Careers left, and they're going to hunt for us."

Watching Noah's face pinch together as he swallows this and accepts this answer as truth, almost makes me want to cry. I can't be certain why, but it simply does. Fortunately he is looking back down at Cynthia, who still seems to be breathing, so I peer out at the indistinct grayness through the trees.

Roman says _this_ is what I'm meant to do! Be trapped in this damned jungle, killing people, see people lose their lives, and in some cases, something worse. I would only wish the Hunger Games on my worst of enemies, and even then I might have to truly despise them to the point where their very existence was intolerable.

My internal clock designates that about an hour and a half or more have gone past, and as the rain has let up to a steady but light rain instead of the torrential downpour of before, I must look a bit antsy. I'd skinned the carcass and we'd tried to eat it raw. Slimy, raw bloody meat and other viscera was so awful to try and swallow, we both spent more time choking and gagging, than getting anything down. Noah had even vomited a little. I honestly couldn't have believed just how difficult it had been to eat the thing. It had been dead a while, so perhaps that only added to the horrific flavor, but I would have assumed I'd have been able to mind-over-matter gag it down. I'd gotten a little meat in my stomach, but I was loathe to attempt it again.

Another 20 or 30 minutes had passed and the rain has all but stopped. I look at Noah, who returns my gaze.

"She's still breathing." Noah states, though it's more out of surprise than it is a demand for me to rethink the elephant in the room – we need to get moving. Noah is not particularly memorable when you meet him, though the more time I spend around the guy, the more I realize what he's about. He has a strong sense of pride in him, and he doesn't take much on the chin; I can respect him for that.

I sigh some, and nod. "I don't know what to do. She's alive, but she hasn't opened her eyes. She hasn't shown _any_ difference in all this time." It is a dilemma, one that I didn't expect I'd be faced with. Killing my fellow tributes was one thing, working with them was another. But to have one who was still breathing, but unresponsive, that was new territory indeed. Noah and I had already discussed the pros and cons of remaining here much longer. Even he'd seen reason; we simply would not be able to linger here.

"Do we kill her?" Noah says, his gray eyes soft and hard at the same time, as he swallows and looks at me.

My mouth is open, but no sound is coming out. That knocked me for a loop. I couldn't help but feel sympathy for Noah, but also some respect. He was no actor, I knew this. He was truly _asking_ me what to do.

"If we leave Cynthia, she might come to eventually." I say, unsteadily.

Noah counters, "If that's the case, then shouldn't we just wait until she does?"

My nostrils flare and my anger is welling up, but it isn't for Noah. "I don't know." I spit. "The Careers are going to be looking for us sooner or later, if they haven't been all along. This part of the Arena has been relatively safe so far, which probably means eventually they haven't been here already. But they're coming."  
>"They'll kill her, if they see her lying here, won't they. Haymitch told me that they…collect the bodies." Noah clears his throat and even if it's not needed, finishes his thought. "So if she's still like…this, the Careers'll know she isn't dead. They will just think she's sleeping, and kill her."<p>

Haymitch must be his mentor. "Just leave her." I say, recognizing that Noah was ready to get out of here as well. I hop up and see him slowly rise to his feet as well, back in possession of the geologists hammer I'd returned to him. I had no idea where Arko's switchblade had ended up, but now I was in possession of a much better knife.

Cynthia lie there, on her side, her short hair wet and swept back away from her girlish features. Rhythmic rising and falling of her chest, the only indication that she was still among the living. She'd held my hand last night, and that imprinted upon me much harder than I'd realized at the time. I have to look away from Miss Reid, or I feel like I might cry. Again…_again_ with the tears, or at least the possibility of them! This Arena is changing me. "I can't kill her, like that." I finally confess to Noah, who is looking at me like I were a brother or something, not a temporary ally.

"She was a funny girl. Made me laugh a few times." Noah says.

The variation where he'd gone from referring to Cynthia as a present thing, to the past tense, makes a chill run through my whole body. I have to get away from here. I can't stay. Not even another minute. "C'mon." I say and I force myself not to look back at Cynthia's form, as I begin trekking my way back through the trees. I am on a different heading than the one we'd used to arrive.

It isn't until I am almost through the trees, that I can hear Noah coming after me. He makes more noise through the underbrush than me, even if he's leaner. Now I am faced with the view of that same bowl-basin which empties out into a small lake at the very bottom, which seemed to have nearly doubled in size since I saw it yesterday. Rain still fizzles down, but I can smell the heat in the air. It's going to stop raining; the clouds clearing off would be a nice addition.

Noah is taking his damn sweet time getting here, and I see his head is drooping as he emerges to where I am. Just one low-hanging tree prevents us from being entirely exposed.

"I think we should stay south. I know the edge of the Arena is down that way," referring to the path I'd taken yesterday in the first place, "we'll have less chances of running into the Careers I think, than if we head toward the center." Noah still doesn't look at me, and his shoulders are slumped. Gee—that's just what I need, a sad sack. I start mentally berating him, when the cannon fires off, and he lifts his head and I see his face.

His eyes are red and wet, and as our eyes meet, his jaw starts quivering. At first I think he's just being a terrific baby about all of this, and then I see his lips shake and he glances off to the side, unable to look at me as new tears are falling down his face. "Herod…"

Holy—for once _I_ am the dumb one. The realization of what had just taken place kicks me in the gut.

"I…I c-c-couldn't leave h-her like t-that…" he manages, and now his shoulders are shaking as he's becoming wracked by nearly-silent sobs. When you need to cry, trying to stop yourself only makes it worse. Even I know that.

My own throat tightens up. I cannot be angry with him. I find myself walking to him, and throwing an arm around him as I sidle up, like Etcher would do for me, when I was feeling exceptionally blue.

Like I usually would with Etch, Noah tries to tug away. Thoroughly ashamed with himself and still crying, but his heart isn't it in and he lets me. This makes my own throat all but close off, and I have to force myself to look back through the trees, and think of the Careers hunting us down, to keep from tearing up myself and this fucking _mess_ of a situation.

"It's alright." I say as comfortingly as possible. "You're a better man than me." I say, and I really do mean it. In all ways possible, pretty-much, not to mention that he had the cojones to do what I couldn't.

He is exhaling long and sharp between his lips, wiping some of his tears away rapidly. "Nothing about this is alright, Herod." His now bloodshot gray eyes are on me, looking strong and weak all at the same time.

That look skewers right through me, pinning me there. It takes me a full three seconds to add softly, "I know."

His jaw set off at an odd angle, he uses the side of his hand to throw away a few more tears, and starts out from under the tree cover.

What can I do but follow him?

* * *

><p>Oppressive heat beat down upon me as I slog my way through the increasingly high grasses as the chirp and buzz of insects reaches a near fever pitch.<p>

Noah and I are moving west, along the very south edge of the Arena's perimeter, trying to make sure to avoid any Careers who would surely be on the hunt. The sun beats down mercilessly, and what's more, the air is steamy and uncomfortably humid. We'd both drank deeply from the stream not far from where I'd jumped into it on the first day. We'd filled up my water bottle so much so that screwing the cap back on had the excess spilling down the sides. He'd decided to go ahead and jump in, perhaps cooling himself off even more, but I hadn't.

We were sure the stream was likely still flowing, north of us, but it had been enveloped by very dense jungle. We'd heard various bird calls emanating from the tropical forest, but Noah and I had both agreed not to go wandering into that hornet's nest. Noseums and gnats were perpetually buzzing around my eyes, my mouth, my nose, and I wave them away, only to have them return moments later. I feel a few crawling around under my shirt, but they're not biting. As to how they got in there, for the material is now stuck to me like a second skin in many places, I don't know. My dark clothing collects heat, I'm aware, but I keep my shirt on to retain moisture, and because Roman had warned me about it.

Something hisses from the grasses, but we keep moving onward; I am thankful that snake, insect…whatever the hell it was, it hadn't followed us. A few various places on my body I know I was bit by mosquitoes. They itch, exacerbated by the sweat and the heat, so I begin singing in my head to endure these little annoyances which, now combined, have built up to be a torrent of nearly unbearable sensation.

"One thing…" Noah says ahead of me. "about the mines…is that they're not hot, most of 'em." I know he speaks of it secondhand, because at fourteen, it seems District Twelve hasn't yet usurped Noah to join his father and brother. I've learned his last name, and the name of the first girl he's kissed. I know his mother's vision is going but the Lind family can't afford to buy her glasses. Noah's way of passing the time is to tell me about himself, so I listen. Occasionally I would interject something about my own life, but he seemed content to speak, so I was content not to.

"My factory is hot, at least in the summer." I echo, though he doesn't seem to have any response to this.

After a while, Noah comes to a stop ahead of me, and I see the sweat shining off his shoulders, and down his back, his shirt tied loosely around his waist. I wipe a new layer of sweat from my brow, with the back of my hand.

"God _damn_ it's hot." Noah says. I don't believe in God, never have, but I was relatively sure that you were supposed to show his name some kind of deference or something? No God I would believe in, would allow shit like the Hunger Games to happen.

Looking to the south, I see a ripple in thin air, notifying me that the barrier is still there; the shape of this arena seems to be rectangular or square. I let Noah know this too, even if he doesn't ask. All through here the landscape is dotted with shrubs and patchy, spindly trees. Up ahead it appears that they fan out, creating a loose wall of trees we'll have to contend with. Still I can see just by looking they aren't particularly thick; I perceive grassy landscape through the boughs on the other side. Seems that even if we've taken pains to avoid the Jungle with a capital J to our north, we won't be able to avoid the trees entirely.

Somewhere a cannon screams up into the air, cracks and settles down over this humid landscape around us. Noah turns and our eyes meet. I'm getting to know his body language, and his facial expressions.

"Yeah, they might be close." I explain to the look on his face. "Could be completely unrelated to the Careers, too."

"Fat chance of that."

"Seriously. We haven't met any Careers yet, doesn't that tell you something?" I ask.

"That we're about to?" He says with a uncommon grin settling over his mouth, making him look his age.

"No," I find myself crack a smile, "That we're doing the right thing by keeping ourselves moving." You'd think that the sound of the cannon would my stomach lurch up, like it obviously had for Noah. All it means is that there's one less person that I have to kill. Of course it wouldn't be good if the Careers were slaughtering us all, and headed our direction…but whoever had died, I no longer had to concern myself with. Unless…and now, my stomach wriggles uncomfortably around, it was _Farah_ who just died.

"Let's go." Noah says, clearly spying the expression on my face. We trudge on ahead, and by the sounds of Noah slapping his bare skin, he seemed to be getting plenty more mosquito bites, just as I had. With the moisture in the air, everything is heavy and thick. Having to maneuver through the shrubs, bushes, and trees that are popping up with more and more regularity, it is tough going.

As I begin picking my way through this nest of trees, checker boarding the landscape, I hear something that stops me. It was not particularly loud. My eyes go dashing through the leaves and branches, trying to anchor on to what might've made such a noise. "Did you hear that?"

A few yards away, I hear Noah grunting and murmuring as he trashes through the dense clots of shrubs and trees. "What? No…I didn't hear nothing." He grumbles.

Continuing on my way, it is when I hear the snapping of limbs and a dense rustling of leaves, that I freeze. Something just dropped to the ground, I am sure of it. Trepidation rising inside of me, I carefully step around the squat bush I'd been traversing, to see just _what_. Maybe it would be a big old piece of fruit, delicious and succulent. The chances of that were about as likely as all of my competitors simultaneously dropping dead of heart attacks.

At first I see nothing, until a patch of ground begins to move. I see it rising up from the ground on squat legs, unfurling it's long, sweeping arms covered in molted brown and green hair. It can't be taller than about three feet. It looks vaguely humanoid, but as it's yellow eyes open, first one, then the other prying wide, it sends a shiver down my spine. It's eyes visibly blink and then zero in on me; it can best be summed up as something from a nightmare.

I don't know why I don't run, or why I slowly drop to one knee, to unsheathe my hunting knife. Perhaps it is the strangeness of the situation; I've never seen anything like this in my life. It unfurls it's arms and wobbles them a bit, as if it were shaking out a rug. Their length is truly grotesque, each one of it's arms easily near or exceeding the height it stands from the ground. It's eyes blink, their vivid color standing out easily against it's patchy, molted coloring.

Like looking at a wreck, I bat away all my instincts to run and watch it, morbidly fascinated by this slow-moving thing. My head snaps when I hear Noah scream, eyes splashing all around me, trying to catch site of him. This is when the shaggy thing comes darting forward, one of it's arms slamming into the bush and then into me. Surprise sends me for a loop and I go crashing to the damp ground.

I spring up, the pain in my upper right arm barking at me but I ignore it. I do all of this quickly, but not before I witness the green and brown thing let out a low groaning cry. I watch it's distended arms wriggle and writhe around it's body as if they were tentacles. One latches onto a tree limb, and it uses it a fulcrum, and launches it's body ahead and right after me.

Noah is screaming and shouting somewhere nearby, but I am horrified, scared, and yet implacably drawn to watch this…this…awful _thing_, as it comes after me. Something explodes against my side and as the pain speeds throughout my body, time whirls into fast motion.

"Herod, graaahh!" He yells, his voice low and choppy as it is cut off by a shout of what I can only assume is pain. Now I am viciously slashing at this thing as it's arms come bowling amidst the trees and grass, each arm ending in a small collection of curved fingers and terminating in a claw.

I know I am bleeding from my side, but I've gouged it's arms a couple of times as I back off, as it swings those violent arms at me again and again. I dodge a few swipes, get a glancing blow from another, and then I slam my knife into the crook of it's arm. I feel the blade bite into sinew and muscle, and the vaguely mammalian thing rasps its protest with a long string of low grunts. I hear not only Noah shouting for me again, but also a chattering string of grunts somewhere behind me.

"Noah!" I call, brain barely having time to recognize that he's at the very least still alive, when the creature before me slaps at me weakly with it's severely injured arm, though I dodge the blow. It's other appendage however, comes careening through the sun-dappled air, and it slams into me, knocking me spinning. I go crashing into a bush, but maintain the grip on my knife. I orient myself and take a low stance with my blade, twitchy and ready for another attack.

A seam on it's face seems to open and I see a jagged line of blackness where it's mouth opens, but it's spindly arm comes for me from a direction I hadn't anticipated. I see a flash. Noah's rock hammer goes slamming into the thing's open mouth, and with a twist, he goes ripping its maw into a wide bloody tear. The claw that had been intended for me, whirls and goes digging into the bare flesh of Noah's back, I see a gush of blood as Noah screams and falls to the ground.

Now I am an animal. I go charge this fucking thing and find my knife slashing at it's whipping appendages, blood splattering onto me, but I care not as I go digging my knife into it's neck, its head, its face. In my peripheral vision I see Noah staggering back to his feet, but I am trying to scissor open it's head, slit it's throat, anything, as it squawks, barks, and wheezes at me.

It's thrashing arms knock me backward, the air explodes from my lungs but I dig the knife into the earth and use it as counterweight to push up from. The multitude of gashes the creature bears has blood intermixing with it's shaggy, swamp like coloring but I still go at it. Noah backs me up, and we take turns hacking, gouging and slashing the thing until he finally collapses back to the earth where it makes pitiful noises and begins it's death throes. The creature Noah had been contending with, is on a slow, laborious retreat back into the trees.

I meet my allies eyes; he looks a bit weakened from the fight, although I can't say that I myself don't fall under the same category. What neither of us see, is the third one of these beasts, which snaps down like it were made of rubber, falling between us, clawed arms ready to rip open anything that gets in their way. I duck, and catch a glancing blow on my left shoulder and sends me spitting to the ground. Dazed, but with the help of my adrenaline, I hop back up and go slashing viciously at this third monster. Noah is on the ground, and though my focus is the creature, I can see he isn't hopping back up as quickly as I'd managed.

Furious now I actually leap into the thing whose body frame is small, but incredibly thick and heavy. As it's arms wrangle behind it and attempt to fling me off, I thrust my knife deep into it's quasi-simian back and rip it down, thick muddy blood spilling up and out from the tremendous gash. My teeth are gritted, and I call the thing a few choice names; it is only due to luck that it's trashing claw misses my face by an inch or less. I'm beginning to feel dizzy myself.

Noah almost crawls toward us, and flipping his rock hammer over, uses both the business and sharpened end of the tool, going to town on it like a demented mason. This creature whimpers, squeaks, growls, and eventually goes about the business of dying.

"A…are you alright?" he manages weakly, although I myself are looking up through the leaves to ensure there weren't any more of these _things_.

"Yeah. Lets get out of here." I rasp, and cough, though Noah helps me back to my feet and I to his. His body is bathed in blood, easily visible due to his shirt being wrapped around his waist. We hobble from the scene of the carnage together. Quite honestly I'm not sure if I would've lived through that, had I been alone.

I had two pretty bad wounds now; the left over one in my shoulder from where Arko had stabbed me, and a nice gash in my side that hurt when I walked. It wasn't bleeding too profusely any longer, but I hoped that I didn't have a broken rib. Noah had two deep collections of gashes in him, one on his back, the other on his stomach. I'd used some of my bottled water to rinse the wounds, as I had with my own, but the one on his back particularly, looked nasty.

Our entire encounter with the…the…well I don't know what the fuck they were, the 'tree creatures', had only lasted a few minutes. Our injuries, were going to last a bit longer. Noah and I come to sit down, more like _fall _down, to the ground and take a moment to gather our strength. Noah slips his shirt back on, and as he wriggles it down, more blood oozes from his wounds. Not a good sign. I drink my share of the water, and tell him to polish off the rest. Whatever doubts or misunderstandings I've had about Noah Lind from District Twelve, seem completely resolved. I may very well owe my life to him, now.

"You look like hell." Noah says with a weak smile.

"Got news for you, you're not exactly camera ready yourself there." I call back. Fourteen or not, he was with me now, I would not second guess that.

The sun beats down on us, which isn't welcome at all. If we were closer to the stream, it might be heavenly to go diving in, but we cannot risk heading back north. From here, the stream is either hidden from us in the jungle, or had stopped somewhere a while back. Our water is gone, but we're hydrated for the time being. I look like shit, he might even look worse, were it possible.

"Wha…what's that?" Noah says, pointing weakly, but his hand drops before I get a chance to see precisely what he'd been motioning toward.

Jerking my head skyward, half-blinded by the sun, I see what I think is a bird descending on us. Or a bat. Shit…can't we be left alone for five minutes? It's difficult to tell, but it seems to be a bit closer to Noah, than myself. No, that isn't what it is at all. I should know by now. Sliding quickly toward us, with no air currents really left to catch in the oppressive heat, I see it. A container, attached to a silver parachute.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe Haymitch actually got me something." Noah says is disbelief, as I slather the goopy stuff in the tiny little tube directly onto his wounds. It reminds me of petroleum jelly, but it smells different. I highly doubt this stuff is going to work miracles, but it's got to be better than nothing, too.<p>

In addition to this stuff, he was awarded five large bandages, and a small canister of bug repellant. My stomach growled as I went about dressing his wounds as best as I could manage. They were still bleeding…but slathering them in this stuff, and slapping some big gauzy bandages over the wound on his stomach and back, were better than nothing. "Don't say that," I warn him, "He can hear you, you know. See you, too."

"Thanks Haymitch." Noah says, and I can't help but smile.

I don't know why it strikes me as sweet for him to do so, but it does all the same. I allow Noah to patch me up with a similar treatment to the gouge that shaggy creature had inflicted upon my side. The real truth is that we could've done with something even more useful…like a better weapon, or some good food perhaps. The bug repellant seemed to be working already, as less small insects were bothering us, even as stationary targets. Still between this and my water bottle from yesterday, I can't help but be annoyed with both Haymitch and Roman. This is when it's still relatively cheap to send tributes some gifts. Shouldn't we be getting the _good_ shit, now? It's only going to get more and more expensive for our sponsors.

Maybe that was all Roman and Haymitch could get out of people. A disheartening thought, but one that absolutely must be considered. We'd had it rough, me especially, but I have no clue what was happening with any of the other tributes. I still stand by what I'd told Noah earlier: the fact that we'd not seen anybody was a _good_ thing. It meant that we were operating off the radar of the Careers, at least for the time being. They could be right around the bend, sure, but my gut told me otherwise. The areas on this Arena I'd spent most of my time in, were boring. Surely there were some more interesting areas to explore. I was happy to let the Careers explore them, while I stay relatively safe. After all, we'd just been ambushed by three creatures here along the far southern line of the Arena. No where was one-hundred percent safe, but I knew the longer I went without seeing a Career, the better.

"What're you thinking about?" Noah asks me, his eyes really a lighter gray, here in the light of day.

"Nothing special."

"Yeah right. You get this look on your face when you're thinking about something too hard." Noah tells me, and I cannot help but have flashbacks to Etcher and Tena. The only thing Noah has in common with Etch, is that their height, and the fact that their families aren't particularly well off. The latter could be said for about ninety percent of the population of Panem, though. Regardless, he is becoming my friend in here. A confidant. I trust him more than anyone else right now, and that includes Farah, if we were to happen across her.

I don't want to explain all the thoughts I've been having, so I settle on just one. "We've got to keep moving."

"If you say so." He says, and nods. Yesterday I would've taken this as an affront, but I am getting to know what Noah means, when he says certain things. He trusts my judgment and whatever contrary thoughts he might be having, they are overshadowed by this. If Noah Lind were truly against something, I'd hear about it. People like that, you know you can trust.

As we continue on, a bit battered, Noah says that if we were to get confronted by the Careers, we'd surely die in the state we're in. I don't want to break it to him that, even if we were at full capacity, un-injured, and fresh off the platform, we'd not survive a meeting with the Careers.

Once we get to where the jungle reaches the furthest south, I reach for my shirt front and wipe all the new sweat off my face. Somehow today was harder than yesterday, and yesterday I'd had to stab someone to death. Cynthia's…passing, flittered past my thoughts, but I cannot vilify Noah. Not even a little bit. I knew that this was going to be hard, almost impossible. Just thinking that way almost makes me want to break down, but I rally against myself and clear my throat. It is only going to get harder. Roman said that I could do this; that I would win.

I reach into my pocket, and withdraw two of the three hard candies I'd picked off of Arko. They were large and lozenge-shaped. One was purple, the other was orange. I knew the third to be red, but for now it would remain in my damned pocket. "Here." I say, and toss the orange one to Noah, who catches it.

He has unwrapped the thing and plunked it into his mouth, before I barely have time to blink. "Oh, isshh schoo 'goor." He says.

I find out soon enough for myself. At first I taste nothing and wonder if Noah hasn't begun to get delirious. Then the sugar strikes my tongue, and the taste of grape candy explodes over my taste buds. The slimy meat we'd managed to keep down earlier, had been awful. This was wonderful by comparison. It took all of my concentration not to break the hard candy with my teeth. I roll it around on my tongue and the inside of my cheek, enjoying the super sweet saccharine taste that lingers.

We continue due west, and the sun is beginning to filter into our eyes. The morning is gone already. After the assault with the tree monsters, we hadn't encountered anything too bad. Some insects who persisted despite the bug spray, and Noah, now donning his shirt, had gotten stung by something on the leg. I'd inspected it, but apart from knowing that indeed it looked like a sting, what was I supposed to do about it? Another one of Noah's best traits is that he did not give in to complaint easily. Made me respect District Twelve a lot more, or at least those from the Seam, or those who worked in the mines.

Why hadn't that Haymitch guy sent Noah some dynamite? Was he not as good as Roman? No…probably better he didn't. Anything that volatile might end up killing you before you even have a chance to use it properly.

As if on cue, there is a boom and I am looking up at the darkening skies. Must be thunder.

"They're still killing people." Noah says.

Oh. It was the cannon, not thunder at all. I must be losing my hearing, or I'm just wearing down. Truth was that there was no way to know how our competitors were dying. I didn't want to give Noah's comment any fire, but inside I suspected that he was right. Apart from Cynthia's, that meant two others had died. The only upside was that, if the Careers were hunting everyone down, better one-by-one, than in a huge group.

When a light rain starts up again, I stop and withdraw my empty plastic bottle. There's almost no way much is going to get filled up, but I may as well keep it out, just in case we're headed for another wash out. My grape candy still has flavor and I am entirely grateful for this. Not very nutritious, but there is sugar in it. It tastes good. That's the real gift…it allows us to feel as though we're really eating something. It is funny how thoughts of killing Noah don't even enter my head anymore, except now to realize the opposite. I will kill him if it's _absolutely necessary_, not one second before. What a difference 12 hours can make.

It is only through Noah's coaxing, that I agree to help him hunt. In these taller grasses, anything could be hiding, but even injured as he is, Mister Lind forges ahead and spies something low to the ground. Though it takes us at least a good fifteen minutes, sopping wet now, bleeding, and tired, the two of us manage to have killed a couple of rats. I'd call them mice, except these things were larger, their tails thicker.

One of them was about a foot long, and even if it looked a bit gamey, he'd assured me that we would be able to get a fire going. The other was smaller, but fatter; chances were that it would taste much better. The fatter one almost landed a bite on me, but I had managed to step on it's tail, keeping it in place, before killing it. Indeed if a fire was a possibility, these rats might provide more than decent sustenance.

Even as the afternoon wears on, the rain persists, albeit much lighter than before. In the moment, I feel light, like a leaf or something. Perhaps it was my hard candy's departure, the crash after the sugar high, but I was feeling a bit morose as it fell into late afternoon.

Up ahead the tall grasses completely file out, giving us a view of a long swath of prairie. Even more welcoming than this sight, is that we can once again spot the creek, river, stream—whatever the hell you wanted to call it, flowing away from what seems to be a massive lake. The water of the lake is still quite far away, it might've taken a good half hour or so just to get to there on foot. Unless of course we ran, and given the shape we were in, that was obviously out. My thoughts go to the fact that so much water, is going to attract things. Animals, _Careers_…I just sit down.

Thinking like this is so heavy. It's just fucking _heavy_ on my mind. It's like cement. Once again I must recall that today was only the second day. I'd actually gotten some food, but apparently not enough. I felt extremely weak logy. I hadn't made any difficult decisions today. If anything, I'd relied upon Noah. From doing what was necessary to Cynthia, surviving those tree things, or even hunting for the rats. How is it possible that I felt like I'd ran all the way from my factory back in District Eight, to our tenement building?

Was it the blood loss? Was it the frustration? The aggravation? The despair? The damned ever present fear! I was only seventeen. I was too fucking young to deal with shit like this, I really was.

I am scowling at nothing in particular, although I am envisioning Roman's face, somewhere in an air-conditioned room, probably being charming and clever. He's extremely good at that. I don't fucking care if he _does_ know what this feels like…I watched his tapes. He'd gotten in very good with some allies and they'd managed to kill some Careers. All that Noah and I had accomplished so far today, was not getting killed. If by some miracle I did win these Hunger Games, it wasn't going to be as slick and polished as Roman Furyk's victory.

Even if I was luckier than a lot of people in District Eight, I'd gotten reaped. All debts were paid now, as far as I was freaking concerned. If I did manage to survive this, somehow, some way, I was never going to spend another minute of my life feeling sorry for anyone else.

"Hey…you're doing it again." Noah reminds me, as he is squatting by where I'd all but collapsed to the ground.

Those gray eyes of his have taken on such a different quality throughout the day. I'd once seen them as distant and hard. Now they were almost warm, and very vibrant. Not like cool rock, but perhaps some vein of ore in a warm cave. Noah is far more average looking than I am, though I'm no heartbreaker. Noah's ears are a little large, and they give him the impression of being a little slow-minded and maybe innocent. I know better. I am certain he has never been slow-minded, and if he was innocent before…today would have robbed him of ever feeling that way again. I still can't seem to think about Arko for long.

Noah will be turning 15 in about a month, but he's already 5'11". I know this because I'd mentioned him being six feet, and he'd set me straight. Close to what, five inches taller than me? How is it that I overlooked all of his good qualities before? He looks a little concerned, but more than that, he looks tired. I am happy that I can't see what the hell I must look like.

"Sorry." I say, and shake my head, trying to slough away all the unpleasant thoughts swirling through my head. The rain has all but stopped, and for some reason I can't even celebrate this like I ought to. "Suppose we need to get over to the water. Fill," I grunt as I stand back up, "this bottle up. It's going to feel amazing." I promise myself this, just the thought of submerging myself into that stream again, even at a different point, was incredible.

We walk due north, the closest possible distance to make contact with the stream. Here it flowing more rapidly than where I'd jumped in yesterday, and it is wider as well. I am looking downstream, back the way we came, as the line of water winds deep into the jungle. It isn't making too much noise, but it's depths promise coolness and release. Forgetting all about these wretched games, I slip off one shoe, hobbling around so as not to loose my balance, and then reach for the other one.

"Herod!" Noah's gasp catches me by surprise. He's already got his bloody rock hammer in hand, and steps before me, but crouches down. I follow his line of sight, right at the water's surface. He jerks up and is moving further upstream, as I focus, a bit dizzily, on the spot he'd first pointed out. Insects are buzzing around me, but the repellant must've done something, as very few are landing on me. The water looks so cool, so completely perfect. I know it can't possibly be cold, but it's all I can do to keep from just falling face-first into the stuff.

It's the splashing that draws me from my addled reverie. My eyes are ripped up the lie of the stream, and I see someone emerging rapidly from it, water peeling off their body in waves. Noah is chasing them down, and I'm beyond myself as to how all of this has happened, and I can barely react. What happened to the kid who'd taken out a turncoat, or who'd slain a few of those rotten monsters a ways back?

It's so desperately quiet, but now I see the two shapes. Noah and someone, one chasing the other, out toward the open field.

"Shit." I say, and cling to the word like a lifeline. It grounds me and spurs me to shake off these drippy thoughts. Dropping, I quickly unsheathe my knife, and, with one shoe, go dashing after the pair.


	10. Chirp

Everything seems to narrow in my field of vision, like running down a long hallway. Two shapes ahead of me, and then one drops, perhaps trips, while the other person halts to a stop. I get closer and closer. I discover that it was Noah who had kept his footing—which is good news—but that he seemed to be lowering his rock hammer—which may very well prove to be disastrous.

The dead rats are still back streamside. I impress, or is it more surprise, even myself that I'd think of something like that as my ally is advancing on someone up ahead. Whoever it is, they are sopping wet and with their arms back behind them to support their weight, they seem to be talking up at Noah.

I keep my hunting knife drawn. Finally I realize that the person on the ground is a girl. Wildly, my heart starts beating erratically. Is there a possibility it's?

No, it's not. Like everything else that has happened to me in this Arena, it's never what I want, or who I most desperately want to see. Farah Gilderling isn't lying on the ground there. I simply have to hope that she's still alive, somewhere else.

"_You!_" Wren Astoris from District Six exclaims at me, water still dripping down from her lovely face, the same going for her attire.

This doesn't strike me quite right, and I am tense. My eyes flicker away from Wren, and skim our surroundings as rapidly as possible. If she were working with the Careers, she'd want to delay us as long as possible until they might sneak up and be able to close in, unobserved. Even as I begin talking, my tone is a bit sarcastic and our eyes only meet once or twice as I keep looking around us. "Sorry to disappoint. So you are still alive." I fling at her, and I see an intensity burn behind those bright blue eyes of hers.

Noah's knuckles turn a little white as he tightens his grip on his rock hammer. Excellent…he too seems to understand that this might all be an elaborate ploy. Doesn't seem like the two of us would be worth the trouble of a ruse to the Careers, but maybe they want to make sure we'll die, using Wren as a decoy.

Wren looks caught, but she shakes her head and rolls into a sitting position, showing us both her empty hands. "I am unarmed. I didn't mean it as a bad thing…Herod. Just, I don't know. I'm glad you're both alive. I didn't see either of you at the Cornucopia, where I was hiding."

I keep my features hard, my gaze indifferent as I drop my hand to my side, but still grip the hunting knife. All exposed like this, I have no idea who might be watching this go down, or from where. "Gotten this far without a weapon? You're more brilliant than I gave you credit for." I say with acid; I just can't seem to help myself.

She makes a small noise in the back of her throat, and I can tell she is surprised by my attitude. Now she starts talking to Noah, and I listen to their conversation, ever-aware of anything that might be sneaking up on us.

"I didn't go in very far. Got this from Pord. Never saw you." Noah begins.

Wren says, "Same goes for you. Knox killed Pord, I saw it myself. Few times with a hatchet. Farah was there too, but I didn't see much of her. Lurie came along too…she was running really fast, I don't think the Careers caught her. I saw Motum get killed." she says with real sadness in her voice.

What a terrific actress, I think to myself. So Knox killed Pord? That isn't unbelievable, given that Knox had told me anyone who wasn't with us, was against us. At the same time, it doesn't seem quite right how Wren would reveal all of this just now. I keep the knife at-hand, held strong enough to wield, but not so much so that I could not maneuver it easily, if necessary. They grow 'em tricky, in District Six.

Due to our silence, the Wren continues on with her story.

"I thought that if I could just stay in my hiding place long enough, the Careers wouldn't even find me. My plan was to wait until they were done picking over the stuff there. The girl from District One saw me, or at least I thought she had. But…but I stayed put and realized she'd just been looking in my direction." Wren brings her hand to her face and coughs into it once, before going on.

"The guy and the girl from Two got swords. That big ape from One had this humongous sledgehammer. Sia got a bow and arrow, I saw. They were scouting around the hill, until…"

"Who's Sia?" I say.

"That girl from Seven."

"_Great_." Noah groans with obvious disapproval. He is skeptical of Wren too, but not by half as much as I am. This much is very apparent to me.

"But listen." Wren demands. "I thought they'd gone, so I dropped down and headed over to where they left a few things. I'd gotten a knife, and this pack," referring to the small leather carrying pouch slung over her shoulder I assume, "but they hadn't left yet. That guy from District Two popped up outta nowhere, and came running for me, but this tiger came leaping out of nowhere and everything turned to shit!" Wren yelled, her voice definitely at a near hysterical level. "It chased them down, I thought it was coming for me…"

Hearing that one little word, the description of the big cat, makes my blood turn to ice water. A _tiger!_ Now I feel like my jaw is settling into cement, and I am looking around us very nervously. It takes several moments to realize that all of this could be a fabrication, it certainly is sounding less and less likely as she goes on. I don't need to be worrying about damned tigers, I need to be worried about Wren, and the Careers she's aligned with.

She goes on with some cockamamie story about the tiger chasing down the Careers, so she runs and drops her knife. Why would a tiger chase down a bunch of people, when there was a solitary victim just as easily had?

"How convenient." I cannot help myself from saying to her. I am very aware that I am currently standing in only one of my shoes. If I needed to run, that could get a little tricky.

"_What!_" She shrieks up at me, eyes burning and I can even see her teeth gritted. "There was nothing fucking convenient _about it_, Herod. I almost got my guts—"

"Oh shut the fuck up." I spit right back at her, my dander definitely up. "Quit selling this shit like it really happened. There is no way some tiger happens along right at the right damn moment for you to make an escape. You're buying time until we get trapped, so you all can kill us. How long did it take you to sell out? Was it right away, or did you just start thinking better of the plan the night before last?" I picture Arko and his glasses, and I am getting extremely mad.

Now, it was out.

Noah had gotten quiet, not surprisingly and I see from the corner of my eye that he is now looking around the field to make sure my accusation wasn't coming true.

"I don't know what you're talking about! I'm not lying!" She growls through gritted teeth, and even though she's sopping wet, I can tell from the expression on Wren's face that she is crying. "I can't believe you'd think that of me." She looks up at me, the blue in her eyes having gotten electric, and sparking. "I've been all on my fucking own," she screams as she shakily gets to her feet and I ready myself for a fight, "all day today and then you find me. I thought," she shakes her head disbelievingly, "my luck had changed, but now you're not going to believe me! _Fuck you!" _

Our eyes are locked, hers and mine, and neither of us move for what seems like a good 10 seconds. My mind is reeling through the possibilities. I see the hurt look, not so much on her face, but in her eyes. Her mouth has become an angry jagged line, her face red, making her eyes stand out all the more. I could run up and slit her throat right now. End it right here, make her pay for what I have decided she's done. But as she? The way her lips are turned down in such a look of disbelief and near-hatred, is giving me pause. There's such a thing as a good actress, but this might go beyond. My sister could make herself cry on demand, but she could not look like _that_. Wren looked both furious and hopeless.

Noah's voice steps out between us, discreetly, "Arko attacked him."

He never was the best at saying the right thing, and this makes my whole face hurt, I am glaring so intensely at Wren with her braided hair, and lovely face. I still remember Farah's warning about pretty girls. Also dancing behind my eyes is the carnage left over from my encounter with Arko. He'd disarmed me too and then tried to go in for the kill.

Wren's features turn from surprise, to a shuffled, sorrowful expression as her eyebrows relax and she looks at me once more.

"I figured he'd been killed by the Careers." She starts out.

"Yeah, well, _surprise_." I say, still with more than my share of venom.

Her eyes flash at me, with a look of hatred, though it is quickly replaced with a gentler one, as she takes a breath. "I _told_ him to stick with the plan. He kept on and on about how stupid it was. How it wouldn't work. Thought he knew better." She drops her head and is shaking it. "I'm sorry."

Damn it! This is making it impossible for me to fucking hate Wren. Blame her for what Arko did to me. Think her a spy, trying to ensnare both Noah and myself in her web like a spider. Logic was prevailing now. The Careers would never trust her enough to leave her alone. They wouldn't let her more than out of arm's reach. She was too much of a risk, she might defect. I don't know why I had not realized it before now. My anger isn't turning to guilt, but it is slowly being thinned out, like adding water to soup.

"It's not your fault." Noah tells her.

"You guys both look like hell." Wren says finally. It was obvious she was finding it difficult to look me in the eye. I was fine with this, as I didn't want to look at her, either.

"I'm glad you managed to hang onto your weapons. I had a knife, but I used it against this monkey thing…lost it." Wren's voice was unsettled, but I could not blame her for that. "What happened to the two of you?"

As we all head back toward the creek, Noah recounts a few of our less than serendipitous encounters today. He omits anything about Cynthia, but I will never be able to blame him for that. As I follow them, sure to keep them both in my eyesight, and the approach of evening, I almost smile.

It isn't one of happiness, but of helplessness. I feel like the next thing that happens, I'm going to completely snap. I almost killed Wren, a few minutes ago. I tell myself that I just need to get some good nutrition, and that if we can actually build a fire, that could be attainable. But is that really the problem? My head tells me so, but my heart seems to know better. She says she escaped from the Careers, there was some tiger…a monkey…I don't know what the hell is going on anymore. I want to be believe her, but just as equally, I want to prove myself right that she is a spy, and kill her before she has a chance to do anything to us.

Roman, you were wrong about me. I'm not destined to win these games. They're too hard. Maybe hard is not even the right word. They are cruel. Cruel, like the way the Capitol grows fat off the rest of us. Cruel like the way that I have seen the bigger street kids bully, beat on, and rob the weaker ones. Didn't I read something, somewhere, about the law of the jungle? The strong prey upon the weak?

Etcher was absolutely right. It's all an illusion. All of us in here, even the Careers, are the _weak_. They might be strong in the Arena, but this is just the present. Right now I am happy that I am thinking too much. It's making me feel smarter, and more aware. Everything comes to an end, absolutely everything.

The only _strong_ left in the world, are watching us from the proverbial stands like the blood lusting crowd at a coliseum.

Why can't I get saved, like we just saved Wren? Even Cynthia was saved, in a manner of speaking. Earlier today I had promised myself that I would never again feel sorry for anyone else.

I'm already breaking my promises.

* * *

><p>After my bath in the creek, I do feel better. There was no soap, but at least I was able to wash away some of the stink of the day, both literally and figuratively. I'd done so after Noah and Wren, as there were occasional concerns that she was going to turn on us, or that maybe she just had been working the Careers all along. These thoughts were pretty unfounded, quite honestly. Still they lingered, and I was bothered by the fact that they lingered. I was not going to take my eyes off her, if I could help it.<p>

We'd not heard any more cannons, which probably meant good news. Surprising to me, really. With things like the creature on the plateau, those tree monsters, or now knowing that there was at least one _tiger_ in here with us…it seemed odd that no one else had died. I wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. The Gamemakers were still satisfied with how things were going. Panem must have been tuning in, and the ratings were up. Yesterday had been brutal, after all. Maybe everyone's quotient of blood and murder had been satisfied for now.

When I return to where Noah and Wren are waiting, they inform me that we're going to set up 'camp' north of here, closer to the jungle. Yes this may mean that we'll incur the ire of something or other, but Wren had apparently kept herself on the move since yesterday, circling around the jungle but not going in. By her word, it seemed that whatever dwelled within wasn't going to come out. Sounded nice, but maybe she'd just gotten lucky. I did have to agree that being closer to the jungle would help hide our fire and the smoke produced. There was one huge problem with that however…I didn't see how we were going to get a fire started.

I had taken Arko's glasses after I'd killed him, but they weren't here now. I don't remember putting them down, or even taking them out of my pocket. I suppose it is pointless to wonder now. I didn't have them any more. Even if I had, they'd only be useful in magnifying sunlight, and the sun was rapidly dying.

I busied myself collecting twigs, brambles, and grasses, the driest ones I could find, while Wren went about more properly treating Noah's wounds. In the leather bag she'd scored from near the Cornucopia, there had been two flares. Naturally their sparks could be used to start a fire, except that good kindling was extremely hard to come by in this wet, tropical atmosphere. What sort of place had bats, tigers, monkeys, and what I'd been informed were peacocks, anyway? Certainly not District Eight.

Sooner than later, Wren helps me collect the best ingredients we can, for making fire. She's even hungrier than we are, and though she is still very pretty, her face does look a little gaunt. I know that look. In Eight, there are poorer families who always have that hungry expression in their eyes, detailed in their faces and bodies. It seems unlikely to me that she is a spy, now. Where I had been almost sure she was a traitor before, I was now all but certain she wasn't. Wren was behaving very guarded…she was on her own. The two of us talk a little about what our options are.

We could try returning to the Cornucopia, and scavenge whatever may have been left by the Careers, but there is no guarantee that they haven't returned themselves. Neither of us wanted to find a tiger…it could kill all three of us surely, in short order. It would be easier to try and scavenge something at night, because Wren tells me the Cornucopia is at the top of a hill. In daylight, were we to go picking through whatever may be left, we'd be easily seen. It's lucky for us that there is a stream. The lake to the northwest might provide us with some better food, but Wren agrees with me that for now, especially at night, it's not a good idea to go exploring a massive watering hole.

The only tree which seems like it would yield decent bark for a fire, has it's branches out of reach from the ground. I hoist Wren up onto my shoulders, and though her weight digs into me, and it's painful given my injuries, she gets up into the tree and goes about cutting through some of the limbs in the approaching dark. She uses my knife mainly, and it isn't until she's back on the ground that I realized how dangerous it was to be on the ground without any means to protect myself. If I can give her my knife, then I realize my mind is already made up.

Strange that I was so sure she was a villain, and now I was taking her as an ally. If I am being entirely honest with myself, it wasn't too difficult. Aside from Farah, and now Noah of course, she was the easiest for me to talk to before the games had even started. We were different in a lot of ways, but she seemed to understand me easily. That is no small task. Wren was intelligent, and because she was, she seemed to know what topics might set me off. We'd worked well together collecting the stuff for the fire, and we carry it back to where Noah remained, unharmed.

"I keep expecting something awful to happen." I admit to Wren as we come back to our 'camp'.

"All of this is awful." Wren says, raising an eyebrow and looking at me reasonably. "Don't wish to die, Herod. _Never_ do that."

There is an urgency in Wren's voice, and stinging behind her blue eyes, that has me nod quite seriously. Not that I ever would anyway, but with such a look…I can't try to pick apart Wren's demand.

She knew what I was thinking before I did. No, I hadn't been wishing for death, but it is an escape. What made me survive, while others hadn't? I know that at least Noah knows how I'm feeling. We touched on it a bit earlier today. While it had been horribly trying, it just seemed bizarre that we were still alive.

We'd not seen the Careers. I suppose when I really think on it, of Hunger Games I'd seen in the past, it was not _always_ bloodshed and insanity. There were lulls. The bad side of that, is that if nothing is happening on it's own, the Gamemakers might force the issue. That idea was truly horrific, so I don't allow my thoughts to wander too deeply into it.

After some debate, we decide to light up a flare. As it smokes and gutters, it's light is extremely bright and I am unbelievably apprehensive that we'll be spotted. I seem to have little to no aptitude with fire making, so I am extremely fortunate that Noah and Wren don't get discouraged. Though the first two they try building went out, the flare was still going in time for their efforts to not be in vain. Our fire is small, but against all odds, it burns.

I had skinned the rats, though I almost diced open my hand even in the glow of the fire. I like my hunting knife just fine, but again a gut hook would've made the job all the easier. I may not have done a perfect job, but neither Noah or Wren complain or volunteer to do a better job themselves.

Wren reveals to us that while she is not in actual possession of a weapon, per se, she does have an item that can be used in combat. Along with some medical items that she'd found in the leather bag, were a pair of small scissors. They certainly wouldn't be killing any animals, but might gouge out an eye, or even open a vein with the right timing and aim. In the Hunger Games, you had to take what you could get. It really was that simple.

Rat tastes surprisingly good. Similar to chicken, really. It is dark meat of course, and a bit stringy in parts, but the fatter rat, especially, tastes wonderful. I apportion Wren a smaller bit of the meat than Noah and I, but she doesn't notice, or more likely, she isn't going to complain. After all we'd caught them, and we had more body mass to worry about. We take turns ripping apart the shreds of the rats. Eating gristle, not caring one iota. Regularly the taste of fat is very unappetizing to me, but to actually find some in the rat, I suck it clean out. With the three of us turning into absolute wolves, we eat every scrap of the rodents. Only their bones remain, and even then, Noah starts sucking on one. Wren and myself follow suit in short order.

"We have to get some more rats." Wren says with a smile curving onto her feminine features, easily seen in the firelight. Apparently having sucked on the marrow of the bone long enough, she tosses it into the flame.

Noah looks at her, then me and laughs. "You guys have never had rat soup? It's good."

Wren and I exchange glances, and she makes a half-assed chuckle, but I remain quiet as I look at the fire. I am so lucky to know Noah Lind, I really and truly am. Life in Twelve for him was obviously worse than it was for me, or Wren. In my case, however, it was because I might be considered 'privileged' when compared to most folks from Eight. Noah takes this opportunity to tell us more about the Seam, and District Twelve. Sounds like absolutely no one is anything even remotely _close_ to privileged there.

"Alright," Wren is saying as she's looking at me like my mother might, expectant and demanding. "Come here, I've got to get a look at your injuries. You said they're not as bad as Noah's, but let me determine that."

As I pull my shirt off over my head, I release the gash in my side, and the old wound from Arko, and they whisper at me, exposed and raw. They both hurt, although not intensely. Just since this afternoon I have gotten used to the twinge in my side when I walk.

First she addresses the fresher wound at my side, and I shouldn't be surprised by the lightness of her touch, but I still am. I barely feel anything, apart from some a little something as she pours some hydrogen peroxide into it. It's coming from a small bottle that, after it's use on Noah and me, I can't imagine has much left. Feeling like I ought to say something as Noah seems to have gone off into his own quiet world over there, I start talking to Wren.

"We used that gunk that Noah got…"

"That's bacitracin." She counters quickly, as if I have any earthly idea what she's speaking of. "Helps prevent infection, although I'd like them to have given us something a little harder." Her voice comes up from my side as she gives my ribs a soft push, and I yield, lying on my side. "I don't know if this'll do anything…" she continues on, as she procures some kind of thing that…is it a stick of chalk?

"Hold still." She says.

"Don't hurt me." I counter.

Wren looks at me, a whisper of a smile on her lips. "Yeah, well watch it or I will. You're not bleeding any more, but I suppose it can't hurt. This is titanium sulfide, or anhydrous aluminum sulfate. It's alum, an anti-hemorrhagic."

Alright, so it stops blood flow. That might come in handy, I think to myself. Noah is watching us, now.

"Wow…you're like, really smart." Noah comes up with. I am sure he was serious, but his delivery is laughable.

All of us are laughing, and I luxuriate in it. I try to push it from my mind that I was in the same situation just yesterday. No wait, no I wasn't. Now I had meat in my belly. We had a fire. No one was crying anymore. Cynthia, for all of her sweetness, had been replaced by Wren who was fifty times more useful. This was the best things had been, since I began the 63rd Hunger Games.

Wren gets quiet as I goes to inspecting my arm. She's pressing around on it a bit, and it hurts…but nothing that I can't handle. Eventually I can't stand it any longer. "What?" I ask.

"Hmm…I don't want this to get infected, and it looks like it might be. I've got a dropper of iodine." She says.

"What's iodine?" I say.

Almost before the words are pushed from my mouth, a leeching, awful sting ruptures up from my wound, and pinches throughout my shoulder, all the wall to the ball of my arm. I think it's going to get better, but when it doesn't I find myself murmuring, "Shit. Shit…."

"Yeah, it's a bitch, ain't it?" Noah grins at me from across the way, now looking at us with moderate interest.

"Sorry…" she says and I don't have time to process why, before more stinging in my arm. Like needles poking at me from the inside out. "Let that set in, don't cover it up just yet."

"Mmm-hmmm…" I murmur from between my lips, and try watching the fire, Noah, anything to get my mind off the pain that is fissuring up from where Arko had stabbed me. I tap my foot, I sing in my head. I decided to save Wren the details of how I'd gotten it, but knowing her, she had probably already guessed.

After while, the pain has abated, and I sit upright, and once Wren is done working her magic, I am certain that if my wound did get infected, I couldn't be in any better hands than hers. I pull my t-shirt back on over my head, but allow it to pool around my neck, it feels good to have the warm from the fire on my bare skin. I notice that Wren is wearing shorts, but is donning a long-sleeved shirt, sort of the opposite of how Avella has set me up.

Though Wren is not tall, the glow of the fire turns her bare legs a smooth, warm color and I find myself appreciating their lie and shape. "Oh," I half laugh, "your toes are painted."

Wren blinks, and then pulls her legs in, sitting on them Indian style, as I can tell the expression on her face is a little embarrassed. "So what?" Her eyes search mine a bit doggedly, as I can tell she wants to smile but is forcing herself not to.

"So…nothing. I'm just saying." I remark, shrugging. It is not so much that I am ashamed that now it's obvious I might have been looking at Wren, but I am a little embarrassed. Reflexively I step my arms into the sleeves of my shirt, doing so gingerly. I don't really want to look at the girl from District Six right now. Certainly this is neither the time nor the place to go about noticing that Wren has nice legs, a pretty face, or anything else. There is a bit of reverberating awkward quiet between the two of us, and we both glance over to Noah.

Now it is his turn to say, "What?" with his lips pulling back into a jagged little smile. "I'm just over here minding my business."

"Well so are we." Wren says a little too quickly.

I clear my throat a bit, quite out of the feeling like I needed to, but it is horrific timing. I catch Noah's expression which is one I'd not received from him thus far. "I'll take the first shift staying awake, you guys."

"Oh sure, take the tender part for yourself." I chide him, unable to suppress a grin.

"Hey shut up dude, today was some heavy shit." Noah waltzes into, sounding more juvenile and unlike himself, but perhaps this is closer to how he actually is. Despite his jovial tone, he is still intensely bothered by what happened with Cynthia. It isn't even behind it's eyes, but right in front, lain bare for anyone to see.

We keep our fire going, but it is tricky because we don't want it roaring, but it has to be maintained enough so as not to go out. Once our meal had been cooked, it might seem prudent to let it die out, but all three of us seem to subconsciously recognize that we all take comfort from it.

"I am so happy I found you guys." Wren says, nodding solemnly at me, and then turning to offer Noah a smile.

I hope my mouth to say something but I am cut off by the cannon firing. This time, I am aware that a tribute hasn't died, but that the faces of the deceased will be projected into the night sky.

The first face projected up into the sky makes me almost choke. It is the visage of that long haired, silent guy from District Two. I goggle at this, while Noah lets out a little cry of surprise, not that I can blame him. _That_ guy! He'd received a damn 10, from the Gamemakers! I had long predicted him to be my absolutely toughest opponent, and here he was turning up dead on day two!

"Maybe the Careers decided to kill him." Noah says with a bit of glee. We shouldn't celebrate deaths, but when they are Careers, why the hell not? I myself am just in too much of a state of shock, to say anything.

The next face lights into the sky, and I am equally not ready to see it.

Her eyes so bright, the corners of her mouth turned up as if she's trying her best not to smile. Lurie Sampson from District Five looks down at us. To go from such a happy point, to such a sad one, I feel like my guts are still tumbling around. "Damnit." I say, and that seems to have summed it up for everyone. Little Lurie…Wren had said she'd survived the bloodbath, but apparently it hadn't bought the little girl with the light up dress too much extra time. Even if it was illogical in many ways, I had expected Lurie to do very well in these games.

I hope to see Sia from Seven, as payback for Lurie…but I do not. No more Careers have died today it would seem. Cynthia shows up next, smiling—actually _smiling_, right into whatever camera had taken this. Seeing her face fade from view as the anthem is played, I feel like all of the wind in my sails has been let out.

Cautiously, I take a glance over at Noah. His head is slung down, and he is very quiet. I know better than to tell him everything was alright, or to keep his chin up. Under the impossible circumstances of Cynthia's death, there was no good face to put on it. I myself almost want to cry, but I catch Wren looking at me in a quiet way and I'm glad I don't. It would figure that the news about that guy from Two being out of the way, has to be marred by Lurie and Cynthia's deaths. They were perhaps the two sweetest of all of our tributes. Cynthia, I could only assume, felt no pain. Hopefully Lurie had came about her end as quietly and easily as possible.

Wren isn't saying anything, she is just shaking out the hair that had been braided, and now has a definite waviness to it. Probably out of good manners that she's staying quiet, but I wish she'd say something. Noah certainly isn't, so I suppose it falls to me to try and break the uncomfortable silence.

"Only three today. So there's four Careers left, and six of us. Could be worse." I say, and hope that Noah doesn't give me any looks. Graciously I see him shift around a bit, but he seems to be quite interested in the ground.

"Five Careers." Wren amends with a soft frown. "The three of us, plus Knox, Farah, and the guy from Ten."

"Haw." I say, remembering the guy who Cynthia had known before their reaping.

"Right…" Wren says and sighs a bit. "If the Careers are all still together, and let's assume they are, there is not much chance we've got against them. Even if Knox, Haw, and Farah are together, same exact thing goes for them."

Noah speaks from his nose, and it's more than clear he's crying. "Then we've got to find them. All of us can take on the Careers."

I can't help but exchange an uncertain glance with Wren, but I nod at my closest ally just the same. Noah was a better person than me, but that did not mean he was the greatest tactician. Even the three of us, plus Knox, Farah, and Haw were together, we might have a difficult time taking out all five of the remaining Careers. It did not matter that of those five, three of them were girls. Zayne the Amazon from Two had received a 10, and the pretty girl from One had scored a 9. I could not recall what the black girl, apparently her name was Sia, had posted. Regardless, these were not your run-of-the-mill kind of girls. They were backed by that huge guy from One…whose name escapes me right now, and the rat bastard from Four. It was cleansing in a way to take inventory, but it was also intimidating.

Me with my knife, Noah with his rock hammer, and Wren with a pair of scissors...come on. There wasn't a snowball's chance in the Arena that we were going to overcome the Careers. Alone, we might be able to pick one off. But even two of them, might be beyond us. Shit. Farah, where are you? If you're with Knox and Haw, please find us. Be safe…be smart.

I realize then that I was correct in thinking that I don't have any real skills to bring to the table. My strength lies in my adaptability, and the fact that I can keep track of a lot. Roman may be right, yet. These attributes might not serve me too well in many ways, but they helped keep me alive in the Arena.

Noah wasn't a slouch when it came to fighting, but he did not have the instincts that I'd been afforded, thanks to my Dad. That made me the most offensive threat of the three of us. "How are we going to take them out?" I say precisely what is on my mind.

"We could try to go back to Cornucopia, it really isn't all that far off…" Wren says wearily, "…except that it's nighttime and if the Careers are around, they can ambush us easily. You're right that we need to find Knox and the others, but they are probably playing the same game we are. Keep away from the Careers."

"Yeah…'cept that something's going to kill us sooner or later. We can't keep putting it off." Noah tells us.

I knew that his point was valid, but even more importantly, we wouldn't be able to face all five Careers in open battle. Probably not even two of them. Perhaps even _one_ would get the best of us, depending on who that one was. I was getting so sick of all of this. It's extremely tiring to keep thinking about all these permutations in your head, trying to keep yourself alive, now I have allies to worry about too. I hope that Farah was with Haw, Knox, or both. If she was on her own, I would imagine her chances to living much longer are going to decrease.

We had all agreed to stay put for the remainder of the night. It was the safest thing to do, we collectively decided. Was it the smartest…not necessarily, but given all the unknown variables, it was the _safest_. Wren said that it would probably be best to keep two people awake, and let the third sleep. Noah wasn't too keen on the idea, but my sense of self preservation exceeded his own, by quite a bit I was realizing.

I had remained awake with Noah for the first shift, while Wren slept. He had been relatively quiet, but I had gotten him to realize that he had done the right thing with Cynthia. Whatever was wrong with her, it didn't seem like she was going to wake up under her own power. He never volunteered just how he'd killed her, and I wasn't going to ask. We discussed how we needed to trust Wren. He fully understood why I had been so hesitant to trust her at the start, but with the dwindling numbers putting the remaining tributes at just 11, our list of possible allies was very short.

He told me to lay down, and before I really realized what was happening, I was out like a light.

* * *

><p>"Herod…" The whisper was soft, and I was certain it must've been in my head. It was after the third one, and the shaking of my arm, that I was roused from sleep. Very fortunately for me, sleep had always come to me rather easily. It was still dark as I make out the shape of Wren quite near me in the darkness. "Time to get up." She says.<p>

You'd think that I would be groggy and entirely out of it, but the Arena heightens all your senses. Though you are burning through your brain cells fast, it seems that I don't require as much sleep. After shaking off a few remnants of stiff joints or cloudy thoughts, I realize that I am awake for good. I feel refreshed.

"Sorry…" she whispers to me, her face mostly visible due to moonlight, "the fire went out. I think Noah and I both fell asleep. It's been a while though. Look where the moon is…I think dawn can't be too far off."

Her whispering voice sends an odd feeling down the back of my neck, but I push this away as I creakily rise from where I'd be sleeping and join her further away from Noah, and what had once been our fire pit.

"Did you get enough sleep?" I ask her, as I stretch my arms back over my head and all the muscles clench and then release with a wonderful sensation.

"Yeah." A smile reflected back at me. "Thanks for asking." Her voice is still somewhere between whispering and just talking very softly. "I need to get a look at your arm again."

I mutter, but decide to sit down and let her have a look. She's disappeared from view, somewhere behind me. Wren's hands are near my waist, cupping at the bottom of my shirt, and as I raise my arms and she peels it off over me, my stomach is knocked silly. All sorts of squirmy sensations go spilling inside of me like scattered puzzle pieces.

I lower my arms and grow quiet, but I am very aware that one of her hands is on my shoulder blade, pushing me forward ever-so-slightly, then the other must be removing the bandage. My brain is still fuzzy and I can't seem to concentrate on anything but where Wren is, what she's saying, what's she doing.

"I'll spare you the iodine, you big baby." Her voice licks up the side of my neck, and twists into my ear. I feel every part of my body starting to become more acute. It's like my epidermis is covered with caterpillar legs, and every last one of them is starting to march. There is something wet on my shoulder, but it doesn't hurt.

"Just peroxide." Wren says, her fingers still feather light as she tends to me.

I say, "You ever think about becoming a nurse?"  
>"My dad," she pauses, and then starts sticking the bandage back down, or perhaps replacing it with a new one, I can't be sure, "was a doctor. Mom always liked medicine too, but she is too good with figures for them not to make her deal with inventory."<p>

"My dad was a Peacekeeper."

"He show you how to fight?"

It is becoming exceedingly easy to fall into conversation with Wren. Most of the squirminess has subsided and I start to like the feel of her hands on or around my arm and shoulder. I find myself nodding, extremely preoccupied with…well I can't even put a name to what, but I remember to move my lips. "Yeah."

"I've taken fencing lessons, but that was a few years back. That sword that Gage got…it looked like it would've suited me just fine. That bastard."

Takes me a moment to remember that Gage is the male tribute from District One.

I grin and I can't help but like how Wren's hands are done with my arm, but one has slid down and is lightly in the crook of my elbow, fingers draped over my upper arm. "Everything looking alright?" I say, though the middle of my stomach feels like it keeps turning to ice at the most inopportune times.

"Yeah…" she sounds distracted, probably still inspecting me, "I think it's going to be ok. You are strong, you heal fast."

Now Wren's hand has dropped away from me, but I turn my head and look half over my shoulder where she is. She just blinks at me, filling my eyes for a moment or two, before she drops them and hands me my shirt. "Maybe…" Her tone change completely and it's very apparent whatever she was about to say, has been scrapped. "Maybe we can get up and try to forage for some stuff at the Cornucopia, before sunrise?"

I slither back into my shirt, which, coincidentally I believe is quite well-made. Nicer than any of the stuff the factory I work at produces. "Sure. Um…" I've lost my train of thought. "Yeah, let me just go wake Noah up."

"No, let him sleep." A small shake of her head, and this sends a braid that was coiled down over her shoulder. In the starlight I can see that she's now gotten two braids in her hair. One is thicker than the other, but they are knotted very tightly. That is a good thing, I am certain. Don't want her hair getting caught in anything, or being able to be yanked.

"What, you meant just the two of us?" I say, surprised.

"_What?_" she says at normal volume, before remembering to keep a hushed tone, "no, no. I only meant that if Noah wakes up soon, we might think about it."

"Oh. Alright." I am slightly confused, but by the look on her face, she doesn't seem entirely sure of much herself. "Listen, I'm sorry…"

She pinches her lips together, and I watch gaze draw up from my chin to my own. Her mouth is smaller and delicate, while her nose is, for lack of a better term, cute.

"About yesterday." I manage, as my intestines seem to be writhing around inside of me, making it damn near impossible to just sit still, be quiet, and have a normal conversation with Wren.

"It's forgiven." A pause then, "Thanks for not killing me." She whispers with a sardonic little smile that makes my whole body wind up and expunge a soft, 'heh' of my own. It is an involuntary reaction.

Wren is still smiling when she tells me that she is allergic to bees. "Just figured someone ought to know. If I am going into anaphylactic shock, there isn't a lot you can do…so…" a feminine shrugging of her shoulders, causing her remaining braid to spill around to the front.

"Annie who-who?" That word sounds vaguely familiar, but Wren is making me want to talk.

Now Wren laughs and her entire mouth explodes in a showing of teeth, a closed-mouthed chuckle at the back of her throat as she shakes her head again. "Nothing, lets just avoid bees if we can, _ok_?"

"Deal."

One of her eyebrows raises up at me as the chuckle is very slowly dying from her face. "Anything you're allergic to?"

"Cats make me feel a little stuffy, but not that I know of." I say. It's the truth. I guess I am just lucky like that but I am not aware of any allergies. "Guess I'm perfect like that."

"Guess you are." She says with a soft smile.

I am suddenly very aware of the crickets, and the chirp of other various insects. It is a little cooler at night, but the weather in the Arena is anything but pleasant. I am flirting, aren't I? How did _that_ happen?

Just when I thought we were going to continue on this light hearted track we'd been going down, Wren decides to flip the script a bit. "When I met Farah, I knew she and I would be the last girls alive."

I try to process this, but all I can come up with is a bizarre expression. First of all I was partially getting whiplash from the subject change, but weren't there…two, no _three_, female Careers left?

"On our side, I mean." She tells me, as if reading my mind. "Farah is smart."

Now I am pulled from thinking about Wren, and into the realm of Farah. This makes me feel shady, like talking with Wren was going behind her back, somehow. Of course it was not, but that feeling still lingered in me. "Yeah, she is."

"No one who is left, is a dud. _They're_ all dead." Wren tells me, blue eyes meeting mine, before she makes a face that is hard to read. "Seems like some tribute who wasn't too spectacular would've survived, just by luck…or something."

I don't know what it is Wren is trying to tell me, but I do believe I get some understanding of what she is saying. I simply had not thought about it in those terms. True, any of the weakling tributes were now gone. The Gamemakers knew this just as well as we did.

"You afraid it's going to get worse?" I say.

For maybe the first time, Wren looks fragile. Not scared, or upset, but crumbly and uncertain. "Yeah." She leans in closer to me, and forces a smile. "Of _course_ it's going to get worse. You and I are real people. We know what's going to happen. Everything is going to turn to complete shit. Even if we manage to kill the Careers, then that just leaves us to kill one another. I don't _want_ to kill you, Herod."

"Then don't." I say with a scraping of a smile, attempting my absolute best to diffuse the situation.

Wren explodes in laughter, though I can see in her eyes it's only because she doesn't want to cry. She lurches forward and flings her arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

My arms encircle her right back as I take in the smell of her body, and the feel of it. It's just a hug…a desperate one at that, but I enjoy it. Is that wrong of me? My body is tingling, way more than it ought to from a damned hug. It is not until she starts sliding back, that I realize just how tightly I'd been holding onto her. We look at one another and there is a thread connecting us now, invisible but strong. I watch her for a few long moments. Under any other circumstances it may have been uncomfortable, or at the very least bizarre, but I don't care. She felt good in my arms, more than good, really. I want to hug her again, feel her arms sliding around me. All I can do is sit there and watch her, following her eyes toward the skies.

"I wish I'd known you outside of here," Wren says, eyes still on the stars.

_Yeah I know._ I don't say it except in my head.

"Maybe we can work something out." She says both sadly and coyly. A defeated look on her face, but there is a determination there as well. She wasn't giving up anytime soon. I draw strength from that.

I catch myself smiling at her, unable to control it. I don't even sound like myself when I say, "Yeah, maybe."


	11. Shere Khan Sure Can

_**Anyone who is keeping up with this story, please leave a review or PM me, so that I can thank you. I owe you that much at least.**_

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><p>Bathed in the powder blue light of pre-dawn, I walk up a hill. I on one end, Noah on the other as we keep Wren in the middle. Everything looks different this time of day, the greens of the grass or the trees in the jungle are washed out by the blue all around me.<p>

We had taken the most direct route, while circumventing the deepest, darkest portions of the jungle. This did make us a trek out of our way, but even then we'd been assaulted by some squawking birds. They had hissed and screeched at us, and eventually took to dive-bombing us. Wren had gotten her shoulder tore up a little, the material of the shirt she wore had been torn a bit.

I had felt the wings flush past me, but I'd ran. We all had. Wren had tripped and fortunately Noah and I seemed to be firing on all pistons. As more winged things screeched and descended upon us, we'd snatched the female member of our alliance right up, and veered her forward. Smart and pretty though she may be, Wren was lacking when it came to pure athleticism. I'd never thought of myself as an athlete, but I was active. Noah and I seemed to be in better shape than Wren, no one could call this into question.

Both of my allies had been here before, but it was all new landscape to me. The slope of the hill is very gradual, and with our nervousness we move steadily, quickly. I don't realize that my legs are burning a bit, until we come around from a few stand-alone trees, and I see the distinct shape of the Cornucopia.

It looks like the husk of some long-dead arthropod, without being able to make out the finer details from this distance. It is even further up the hill from our current position, but I already feel as though everyone was watching me both in the arena, and back in their homes. The former was far more bothersome than the latter.

"There was stuff all in through here…" Noah says, and I see him squint down through the open grasses before us. "I got my rock hammer just over there."

Wren and he both have split off a bit, and go foraging. As I realize I am standing alone, Wren a good 10 yards or so ahead of me, Noah a bit further, I almost have an instantaneous panic attack. I feel like a mouse flushed from it's home. There's got to be a snake around, if not several, following that analogy. Why did I agreed to do this? Wren and Noah are making me soft, and stupid. All it takes in one miscalculation, one definite error, and you're dead.

"Nothing yet." Wren whispers loudly as her voice harkens over the hill and I flinch.

I am not even looking at the ground, as my internal alarms are buzzing like mad. This is an ideal place to get ambushed. Behind us, and also ahead of us and to the sides, are patchy remnants of bushes and trees. Especially in this light, I can't tell what the fuck might be hiding within the foliage. I move quickly, surprising even myself, as I zigzag up the incline, seeing some dark shadows upon the ground as I go. It isn't dark, and yet the entire landscape is bathed in shades of blue. I'd almost prefer that we would come at nighttime. Like a watercolor painting, everything around me bleeds into itself and my eyes are having the most difficult time discerning anything specific. The fact that I want to bolt for the tree line, can't help matters.

I inhale deeply through my nose as I drop to all fours, reaching for a bag that was left on the ground. Twisting it inside out, I fish around inside with my hands, but keep my head level, looking around me at all times. It's empty, and I toss the useless thing back to the earth. My chest tightens as I see a shape lollop from the blue-toned background. My knife is in it's holder, down on my leg. There's really no other way to carry the thing, but I relax just a little when I realize the shape is Noah.

"I found a net…" he says disappointedly, eyes moving away from me, to where Wren stands. "Can we even use a net?"

"I don't think so." Wren offers. Both of their voices are low, but sound travels very well on this hillside.

I see an arrow's shaft, it's feather I think might be orange or red…but the front half with the head of it, is nowhere to be found. _Yeah_…I think with total apprehension, because it's still _in_ somebody. Though my eyes are preoccupied with the shape of the Cornucopia, perhaps a hundred yards or so ahead of me, I can tell the landscape drops down away from it on the other side. The grass here is short, and much of it is trampled down. The air is heavy, sticky even. I attempt to determine just what substance is on the ground, until I realize it's blood.

Lurie Sampson from District Five had talked to me about animals in the wild, quite at length. I can't tell if all of these tracks belong to animals, or people. The only animal I am worried about right now, is Man. On rare occasion, animals can be unpredictable, but as a race, we _always_ are.

I can't see Wren nor Noah, until I swing back around and spot my ally from District Twelve picking his way up further, getting even nearer to the Cornucopia. It reminds me of a slumbering beast, ready to strike at a moment's notice. It casts a shadow, frighteningly close and I realize I couldn't see if someone was watching us from there, and it was maybe 50 yards away? I envision Roman on the edge of his seat in some control room, his hands back through his white head of hair. My mind is focused, like a laser.

Lets get out of here, lets get out of here, lets get out of here, lets get out of here.

"Find anything?" Wren's voice finds mine, stalling my thoughts. I see her pop up, not far away at all.

"Just some blood. I don't think there's anything here." I say pointedly.

Noah's voice chirps up, "Yes there is. Stupid to leave now, we may as well make it worth our while."

Wren glances at me, and then she too continues her ascent, and I throw my gaze back down the way we've come. Quite a distance in a short while. The hill to the west slopes down and thins out. To the direct east is another rush of dense forest. The southeast winds the way I'd escaped from my platform on the first day, toward the slopes that decline into that basin with the pond at the bottom. Even if it was just two days old, felt more like a week.

Before I even know what I am doing, I am standing before the Cornucopia. It looks demented, and intimidating in the current light. Maybe that wouldn't change, even if it were broad daylight. How did I even get up here? Now I was 'here', whether I wanted to be or not. With the utmost of trepidation, I eclipse the opening, and peer inside.

The darkness yawns back at me. I am relatively sure nothing lurks within, but even knowing this, I feel like there is something in it's depths. I hear Noah shout, and at first I am scrambling for my knife, until I realize that he sounds excited. I hear Wren too—they must've found something decent.

What on earth possesses me, I have no idea, but I shuffle further inside, now in the maw of the Cornucopia, and there is some odd shape, just beyond my reach. My eyes all but steam through the pitch black recesses, feeling like I was in the mouth of a beast, about to swallow me whole. I got it! Turning it over oddly in my hands, I believe it was made of burlap, or jute…so I step back into the pre-dawn light and see it was once a carrying bag, but it had been slashed.

"Excellent!" I hear Wren squeal from outside, and I decide that perhaps coming here wasn't the wrong move at all. Just as I am about to toss down the ripped open thing, I feel something cylindrical and tiny, within. I withdraw it, and as I depress the end, and a sharp line of light emits from the front, I hear a horrific scream that makes my blood seem to dry.

I all but fall back out of the Cornucopia, bashing my arm jarringly, to see Wren standing about 10 feet away, looking to the northeast, stock still. Noah is a bit further back, who now casts a weary gaze to me. I notice he is holding something wooden, and that a new backpack has been slipped around his shoulders.

"Something down there…it just went back behind the bushes." Wren said slowly, pretty features white as a sheet. "It was big, I don't know what it was."

Wren sounds scared to death. I don't know why this surprises me, but perhaps I'd given her too much credit already. As I am doing this, due east, I see someone slip into and under the tree line. _Motherfucker. _

"Let's hurry and get what we need then, and get out of here." Noah is saying uselessly, as my lips bend and stutter about as I try to come out with my words.

"What kind of sense does that make? Let's hide in the Cornucopia!" Wren whispers, and I am once again concerned if maybe I haven't aligned myself with two of the stupider people in this fucking Arena!

I speak, almost sounding like I'm on the verge of crying, but I'm not…I am simply scared shitless. "Someone's over there. Right east." Teeth are gritted, its hurting my jaw. I breathe one more word to them. "_Run_." My eyes are frantic as I see Noah's entire expression change, and I dash straight past him and, vaulting over some discarded item on the ground, start running my ass off. The muscles in my legs seem to enjoy me stretching them out, and this only urges me on further.

Everything is flooding past me, I don't stop to look behind me until I have entered some new area, where it looks like the jungle has been hewn apart and cut off at the roots of some gigantic trees. In this deforested zone, there is little to no cover, except for perhaps a couple of truly impressive tree stumps. Someone is chasing down after me, and it takes me a second or two to recognize Wren, for who she is.

We rejoin one another down near where this deforested area bottoms out, and made especially bright in the coming dawn, something that looks like a flooded forest.

Her face is red, blue eyes wide, and she latches onto me, which makes me want to yank away, but I search her eyes in anxious quiet. We are hiding behind a tree stump, and my body now feels warm, as if it's anxious for more running. In fact if Wren were not there, I would have kept on running, perhaps right into the aquatic forest.

"Where's Noah?" she whispers at me with a pinched, anxious look that might be a whisper away from terror. Our voices are very soft, our expressions enough to freak one another out, even without the help of seeing things moving in the trees. I know I need to calm down, but I can't seem to.

"I saw something in the bushes."

"I saw _someone _in the trees."

An odd noise ripples up and fires down through the newly tilled area we stand in. It isn't a yell, it isn't quite a growl, a low, hefty sound with plenty of meat on it.

The hair on the back of my neck is already standing up, but Wren's face contorts into a mask of not only identification, but of fear, as she claps a hand over her own mouth. This is bad, because looking into those horribly blue, maddeningly terrified eyes of hers with nowhere else to look, I almost feel my teeth clench reflexively.

"Come on Noah…" I exhale, turning away from Wren and managing a peek around the stump. He's got to be coming after us, bounding down the hill with whatever new crap he'd found. The dead stumps cast long shadows at me in the sunlight that's just beginning to crest on the horizon, and I can't make out much of anything. My breath is coming fast and short, but I hold my eyes there, willing Noah to pop up at the top of the hill and follow us.

_Aaaaarrrrrroooowwwwww_. The sound paralyzes me down to bottoms of my feet, and I don't know why; I have no earthly idea what it is. The sound is horribly loud, much too loud to be emanating from a single creature. Surely a person couldn't make such a noise?

I hear a small squeak, only to see Wren running away from me. Her braids flailing behind her as she tears ass away from me and where I am still gawking at her, managing to be surprised, rather than just to follow.

_Aaaaaaarrrrrrrroooowwwwww_.

The throaty sound reverberates off the dead tree stumps, and seizes my heart. This call is louder than the last. I feel like my insides have turned into worms. It takes a third howl, if that's what it is, followed by a shorter one, and I am running at full speed.

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><p><em>Somewhere in a very neat, clean, air-conditioned room, a perfectly average looking man named Thurio Malfelas who looks close to ten years younger than the forty his bones have experienced, cracks his knuckles. Last year he was touted as good, excellent even, except that some of his traps and designs were too well-executed. He'd not allowed the tributes to find their way into trouble, the people who'd wish to supplant him had said. <em>

_Thurio had been smart, he'd always been smart. The word genius might not even be out of his league, but he had never been a patient man. It was positively killing him that this year, he'd forced himself to be so horribly hands off. Once President Snow had signed off on his sophomoric effort, the turbines in his mind were already churning…but that had been silenced quickly by the President's subtle demand for a longer, more drawn out Hunger Games. _

_Snow had said that he wanted to see the tributes bleed; that Panem needed to see them bleed. Thurio, being clever as he was, knew precisely what this entailed. Snow wanted the games to last longer, this year. The 62nd Games had been touted as amazing by most everyone. Thurio was certain that the people who didn't enjoy them, weren't necessarily the citizens of Panem, but certain key individuals in and around the Capitol. _

_Enobaria had been a terrific victor…a real paragon, she was barbarous and fierce. She'd ripped peoples throats out with her teeth, for heaven's sake! One couldn't have asked for a better icon in which to be associated. Thurio's detractors had claimed that he'd been handed a magnificent victor, and that his traps, while well-conceived, were too deadly. It was beyond him as to how that can be, when the whole idea is to kill the tributes and hold the entire nation's attentions. Miscreant worms, all of them, he preaches to himself. _

_He had always suspected that Snow simply had not liked him, but then, Snow didn't like a great deal of Head Gamemakers. Thurio had been asked to reprise his role, but they…idiots like Snow, were already trying to tamper with his genius! He'd only had one year to show them what he could do! What he had wanted for the 63rd Games, and what had actually come to pass, were very different indeed. _

_What choice did he have? You cannot refuse such a request, so he simply had to live with the new set of circumstances that President Snow had required of him. He'd scrapped his entire notion and gone back to the drawing board. They wanted something simple, something primal, something untouched. _

_Many of his muttation ideas had been scraped. Thurio was livid, naturally, having believed that Head Gamemakers could place whatever they wished in their Arena. What made this 63rd Games so different? Why were they babying him, and impeding upon his ideas? Two of his chief planners chatter back and forth. _

_"They're about to enter the Sundarbands area. Should I cue the macaques?" _

_"I think the crocs might give a better show, right now…" _

_"Good point. Can't believe they escaped the—" _

_"Shut up, both of you!" Thurio bellows, face red, making his already watery eyes seem more strained and weak. "I want the Homing Bats released from the spire. Leave everything else as it is." His tongue licked up over one of his canines. "Be ready with the weather system. I don't want too much sunlight." _

_His subordinates hopped to, as they should. Like cogs in a machine, they could only do one thing. Thurio believed himself beyond such foolery. Even if his hands were unfairly tied, he could accomplish anything. _

_It killed him to do so, but Thurio could follow orders. His thoughts were straightforward. Snow had asked for hands-off. Fine. Once the ratings came in, and all was said and done, surely he would come around to his way of thinking. It was annoying that these Games seemed to have just as high of viewer ship thus far, though that was just bad luck. This crop of brats was far less interesting than last year's. Make them bleed, make them bleed. Thurio repeated this in his own mind, though if it were up to him, the mantra might be, make them scream. _

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><p>When I find Wren, she is all but cowering by a bush, not far off from where a multitude of streams, all branching off, begin to meet with the large flooded area, forming a dense shady delta. Spindly looking trees with bright green leaves thrust their heads up from the brackish water, their roots well submerged from the look of it, but their canopy well above the water line. All of this is making me think of something I'd seen pictures of on television, or read in a book. The sunlight brings out steam that rises off the water and licks at the sides of the vegetation that abounds. Mangroves? Is that the word? Mangrove trees…yeah, I think to myself, isn't that right? Given my tropical surroundings, seems like they ought to have a fancier, more undulating name to them. I feel like all these keys to my surroundings ought to be adding up to something, but I'm too frightened to try and figure it out now.<p>

Upon seeing me, the brunette squeals even more, and I can see she's crying. No, that isn't even the word for it, sobbing is closer to the truth. Some part of me wants to just run from her, but this is quickly overlapped by my protective feelings and I kneel down before her, trying not to get too startled to how fantastically she's fallen apart.

I reach out to her, snagging for her hands, but she claws at me, blue eyes turning red as she lets out a string of hopeless, pitiful sounds that bite at me. "N-no-oo.." she wails at me, unsure of where to put her hands, whether to cover her face, smooth back her hair, or swat at me like the demented person she's becoming. "Run…run away!" she screams at me, somewhere between fury and fear, strings of saliva, and some snot ladling from her nose making her look nuts. "We're all gonna die, no! Don't touch me!" she screeches and claws at me. I have just enough time to snag my arms back before she'd have dug into them.

Now the girl from District Six buries her face in her hands, and sobs. She's beyond hysterical now, her shoulders shaking, all her beauty hacked apart by her spurting emotions. Amidst her tantrum, those eyes of hers lock on me, needing my help. I could make it all end for her, couldn't I? The racket she's raising is sure to bring unwanted attention. It would be so easy.

I smack her full across her face. Wren's sobs, grunts, shrieks, and whimpers silence, and I see her swallow and with a expunged little gasp, she settles back onto her haunches.

"Stop that shit." I say, and though I need to bring her back from the brink, some small part of me wishes that I could collapse like that and have someone there to smack some sense into me. I'm always getting screwed out of my opportunities to fall apart. Son of a bitch.

"Listen to me." I say. Even though she looks like absolute hell, and is making pathetic attempts to wipe her face off, I have her attention.

"Get up, shut up, and help me look for a better escape route, or for Noah. Whatever the hell you and I saw, they aren't going to stand still. Quit crying." I'm sure there were people all around Panem, in District Six especially, who might have thought me crass to speak to a girl in such a way. They ought to be thanking me, for bringing Wren back from the oblivion she had seemed to so entirely been heading toward.

Maybe I ought to be thanking Wren. Since she was such a coward, it didn't allow me time to be. I look at the girl who'd hugged me last night, and decide that she is going to be alright. Not only this, but that she may be appreciative of me yanking her out of her hopelessness.

"The tiger…" she says helplessly, looking frightened but at least now Wren seems to be listening to reason.

I swallow my own fear, and shake my head. "We're sure to die if we just stay here." I look around at my options. The flooded tidal forest area might be harder for tributes to find us, but, and I try not to pee my pants acknowledging this, if there _is_ a tiger in the area, it would have the upper hand in there. I was all but certain the Careers weren't hiding out there either—but there was a reason. It looked like a death maze, plain and simple. My brain connects the sound I heard earlier to the roar of a tiger. No, I can't panic. I will myself against the pull.

We could cross the streams here, where they begin to branch and web out and follow them southwest to where I was sure the massive lake we'd come across yesterday lay.

It might seem like we had several options, but we really didn't. Wren follows me a bit south. The cut back and away from the stream we were following, but I'm almost sure I see a new branch of it spreading off a bit further ahead. I don't hear the tiger, if in fact that's what it was to begin with. Wasn't that a good thing? Wren is very quiet, which is perhaps a good thing, if all she was going to do was cry. It isn't that I can blame her for feeling like she does, but somewhere I do blame her for having a breakdown. Where is Noah? I hadn't heard any cannons, so hopefully he was still alive somewhere.

"Found some duct tape." She tells me, sounding as though she has a cold, but it's probably due to her outburst. "And a straight razor. Noah got a backpack with lots of stuff inside…" Wren tells me.

A straight razor. _Great_, I think to myself, maybe she can scratch the tiger with it, before it eats us. No, I cannot think like that. It's a marginally better weapon than her tiny pair of scissors, and it's lightweight and easily concealed. Too bad they'd not found a sword, given that Wren apparently knew how to fence. That really was too much to hope for. Anything truly good, the Careers would've taken. Though I had a compact flashlight now. I can't believe my good fortune. Were the Careers too stupid to see what it was? Or perhaps due to its size, they hadn't seen it at all?

I cannot hear the chatter of the birds in the flooded area we'd left, it's quiet in the sweltering morning sun.

We are walking further toward the stream as I perceive someone standing off to the side. Just as I turn my head, I see they are holding something in the morning mist, and I move reflexively. "Duck!" I scream and as I kick my legs out from under me, I sense something whistling past me.

I lay stunned upon the moist earth, brain a bit slushy as I hear Wren whisper harshly to me, "They're shooting at us!"

She yanks out her straight razor and looks ready to start crawling. The grasses around us aren't exceptionally tall, but if we worm our way on our stomachs, we might be able to stay below the grass line. My all-purpose knife is wrenched from it's holder and I try to listen over my anxious heartbeat. I can't see exactly where Wren is, but I believe I know her location. Far more important, and information I'm not privy to, is where our assailant is.

She said shooting at us. The Careers found a gun! Holy shit. There's no fucking _way_ I'm going to survive this. Helplessness doesn't lend itself to any new ideas, but as I try and swallow my thoughts, I remember to be keep quiet.

"Who _is_ that!" yells a voice, splitting the silence. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't tell from where.

I am quiet as I freeze, holding my knife and hoping maybe if they come close enough, I can thrash for their Achilles tendon; what else can I hope for?

"God damnit, I said, who is'at!" The voice slides down on the word 'God' and they don't enunciate the 'is' and 'that' as separate terms.

"Wren." I hear my companion state clearly. I notice of course that she doesn't announce my name, and I am proud of her. This means I'm the one who has to ambush whoever it might be, which is just as well.

"It's Haw." He says as I now connect the voice; it's definitely the kid from Ten, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I watch Wren wriggle up to a standing position and my heart catches in my throat. I fully expect her to be mowed down by Haw. Good guy or not, if he's on his own he's probably using our agreement to let us put our guard down. It had almost worked for Arko, after all.

Arko wasn't Haw, however. Not even close.

Perhaps stupidly, I rise up as well and see someone lowering what I am positive is a crossbow. Haw is at least 100 feet to our south, toward where the grasses triple in size. Haw is just an inch or two taller than me, he's no giant. I suspect that he is stronger than me however. He has that muscled, more compact look to him, more than I do anyway, like wrestling with him might not be a good idea at all. I see his blonde head in the sun, and my final worries that it might not be Haw, dissipate.

Wren is walking toward him, but I linger back, with far more measured steps. Once I decide that it's Haw, and he is alone, and isn't about to attack us, I breathe a sigh of relief and almost have to catch my breath. Such luck. I don't know where Noah is, but here's Haw, sounding healthy and wielding a crossbow! Now we might actually have a fighting chance against those Career bastards.

"Good 'ta see you alive." Haw says to us.

"Likewise," she laughs, "where'd you get that?"

"Jessamine dropped it durin' the bloodbath. I snagged it."

"Well aren't you just something else." Wren says with an friendly intonation, though it isn't an expression I'd ever heard her use before. Apparently everyone had been talking more to each other before these Games than I realized. Right then and there I appreciated how I'd just lucked into this coalition against the Careers.

I stand still, almost wanting to throw up from all these intense moments the day has already brought. I worry about the whereabouts of Noah Lind. Jessamine? Who the hell is Jessamine? It is so quiet here, it can't help but stimulate my mind from going in a hundred directions at once.

Haw laughs, "_Just_ what mama always said." His words die on the still air around us.

Haw's startled choke is sliced in half as I watch him be crushed to the ground by impossibly large forelegs. The tall grass had concealed it, until now. Paws are gargantuan, the claws concealed behind white-covered digits. I open my mouth to scream, but literally, I can't squeeze a sound out. Death looks at me with wild eyes, wearing a striped coat.

The tiger's maw opens and I see the pink of it's tongue, the white of it's teeth as it's low rumbling growl assaults me from every direction. I cannot move, or breathe. I vaguely recall Lurie telling me not to run, in the recessed gray matter of my mind which has turned to complete mush. I feel my entire body vibrate.

On all fours, the great tiger widens it's mouth and calls out another roar, the look of it's massive head branded and seared into my mind as it takes a half-step forward.

I find myself praying for the first time in my life as I take a wobbly step backward. Wren is frozen ahead of me, a couple of paces nearer the King of the Jungle.

I will every inch of my body to back off more, equally forcing my thoughts to travel to Wren. She was so overcome at the mere idea of a tiger before, I am sure that she will run.

Watching her take a fractured step backward as well, I am witness to Wren as she falls. The tiger moves to the side, and then as it advances very slowly at us, it stalls once again and lets out another crippling growl.

My jaw shakes, but I cannot take my eyes off the tiger's, as I slowly lower myself to help Wren up. She scrambles and thrashes, but I manage to pull her back to her feet. The smell of urine dashes my sluggish thoughts. Placing my hands on her shoulders with more force than I mean to exert, we take a few more dragged steps away.

"Don't…run…" I whisper almost impossibly soft.

I hear a galvanized whimper echoes my warning, but Wren has become like putty. I continue to bring her away from the tiger, fighting every urge to turn and run. It's like my body is tearing in half, the instinct is so difficult to fight against. In my mind I remember our conversation about predators, and see cute little Lurie shaking her head.

A cannon blasts off and I see the tiger's gaze move through us, not at us. The noise makes me all but shit my pants, but I realize it's more of a hiss. An annoyed sound as it guards it's kill. I see it's tail swish now as it battles us with it's gaze, unwilling to take it's eyes off of us.

I play the same game…as we back away. I could be backing into quicksand, but I don't care. We are moving, feet by feet, northeasterly, back toward the Cornucopia. This is not by design, it is simply by necessity. The tiger seems to have not shrunk in size, and I am worried that it is following us. The landscape is cut low here, so I can still see all four of it's mighty legs, its tremendous body and trunk, its striped tail.

"It isn't chasing us." Wren says, though she sounds nothing like herself in doing so. She's already peed herself, and I'm not at all sure that I haven't as well. Now isn't the time for vanity. I realize she is right, and it's just my own perception that has kept the tiger at it's same bulk.

This thought is reinforced as finally the tiger is whittling down in size as we continue our slow egress, but I still find my eyes locked onto it. I still remember Lurie telling me about animals in the wild. It is only brainless luck, that this tiger wasn't engineered by the Capitol. It wasn't like those awful tree sloth-like things that Noah and I had battled. Lurie had told me, '_No animal kills for sport, except Man._'

I almost cry at recalling these words, for they bubble up all around me in this Arena. Precisely, Lurie. _Precisely._

* * *

><p>Now that we have put as much distance between ourselves and the tiger as we can, Wren and I look at each other. Remarkably, she doesn't cry until right now, and even then, it's nothing like the hysterics from earlier. I catch myself in her beautiful blue eyes, and though I don't think she wants me to, I hug her. <em>I <em>need a hug.

"Haw…" she whispers against me, and I feel my heart drop like a stone. I cannot believe the circumstances in which we found him, and then how he was taken from us. Only now do I remind myself how quiet that grass valley had been. That isn't natural. All of our talking, crying, then Haw shouting at us. The tiger had been there, waiting for us, for him…for someone. It forces me to close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose.

"He didn't suffer." I say. I don't know if it's callous or sensitive, as I do so, but I know it's the truth. The horrifying part is that we could've just as easily been picked off. Maybe there is a God. I don't know anymore.

This acknowledgement ought to shake me to my foundations, but I accept this new _not knowing_, so easily, like putting on a clean shirt. I don't know much of anything anymore.

What if that cannon had been for Noah, dying somewhere else, and Haw was still alive, being eaten by the tiger? No, please no. It isn't as though I was in any position to sort something like that out, but I hope that it wasn't the case. Right now, my yearning for Noah to be alive and well, is surprisingly equal to my wish that Haw had died almost instantly. One doesn't weigh more than the other, in my mind, and even this is a peculiar thing to realize.

"Thank you." Wren whispers to me, her eyes on mine and I feel myself slipping away with her. I'm barely taller than her, but she is looking up at me like I am her savior. It prickles my ego, but touches me deeply at the same time. Did I save her life? I guess. I don't know anymore, that seems to become my mantra now. I don't know.

I disentangle myself from Wren, and I realize that my knife has gotten back into the sheath around my leg, but I have no recollection of putting it there. I am bathed in sweat, both from our unforgiving muggy terrain, and from the fear from the tiger's encounter. I don't think I have peed my pants, it doesn't seem so, but I will never look a judgmental eye at Wren, who can't say the same.

When Noah shows his face, I am appalled at myself for how easy we were to sneak up on. Naturally I would not want to draw weapons with Noah, but the fact that Wren and I are caught so fantastically off guard, is worrisome. As a light rain starts to fall, we have to tell him what happened. He seems concerned that the tiger might be coming back for more, but strangely, I don't think so. It had behaved exactly like a tiger might in the wild, not a tiger muttation, some twisted product of the Capitol, might.

"How are we even still alive?" Noah says.

"I don't know." I reply. It's my phrase of the day, and I'm sticking with it. The rain does some to help wash away the feelings associated with that sun-lit field where Haw had lost his life. I am anxious to get rid of them, though I will never forget District Ten. Cynthia and Haw. They were both amazing people, who died under bad circumstances. Then again, surely the three of us would share the same fate. Did anyone in the Arena die under _good_ circumstances?

"Well…" Noah says shakily, his gray eyes switching from Wren back to me, "I found some stuff for us. Come on, we'll sort it out over there."

I obey him, happy to not have to lead them. Both Wren and Noah might disappoint me from time to time, but just as often, they impress me. I would feel honored to get killed by either of them, and that is the truth. In such a scenario, that might require us to be the final three tributes. Can we do it?

I don't know.


	12. In The Middle

Noah selects a spot amidst some rather thick growing bushes, and I approve. It allows us for quick escape, but provides plenty of cover as well. As far as I can tell, we must be near the exact center of the Arena, unless the Cornucopia is at the precise middle. We're now east of the Cornucopia, on the north-facing side of a loose amalgam of shrubs and spindly trees, with the foliage becoming more of a true jungle, directly to our south. South of that and a bit east, is where the land bottoms out into that basin. East of us is the highest elevation I see, where if my mind serves me correctly, the bats had gone to roost my first night in the Arena. I don't know what the hell is north of us, it looks low, a bit swampy in parts, dark, and very unforgiving.

This 'middle jungle' gives us cover, though I feel like it is far too close to wherever the Careers may be lurking. It is just my sixth sense that tells me this, so I hope that it is dead wrong.

Wren is done changing the dressings on my wounds, and she tells me I'm looking pretty good. The redness she'd seen yesterday where Arko had stabbed me, is going away. I stand vigilant, as she takes care of Noah's injuries. I cannot help myself from wondering just where the hell the Careers are. I don't want to meet them, but my luck can't hold out forever.

Etcher believes in luck, and he's got to be proud of me. Same goes for Dad, Dyne, Tena, and Mom. According to my mother I was 'extremely clever', and if I 'needed to put all of my energy toward winning'. I'd already failed my Mom, on that account. The person I'd started out as, I was becoming less and less comfortable with. Am I a killer? Am I a good guy? Can I be both? More than likely I am none of the above. My stomach growls, and I am keenly aware my water bottle is no longer full. The three of us had drank, and tried to get as much rainwater in the container as possible. It had stopped raining right as the water level hit about half way up.

Yesterday's torrential downpour was actually a gift. Neither Noah nor I had looked at it in the right light at the time, but now hot and humid but without rain, I would love a good dousing.

Noah had found a wooden cudgel with a leather strap to be easily carried at the wrist. It was the longest weapon we had at the moment, and with the exception of Noah's rock hammer, the most solid. In his backpack there had been plenty of smaller items, and four decent sized oranges. We'd eaten three, only one was left.

As my body started digesting the orange, I knew how hungry I truly was. I still had the last hard candy in my pocket, but I figured I'd save that for later. I took total inventory of our possessions.

A knife, a pair of tiny scissors, a rock hammer, a straight razor, a very solid wooden club, a diminutive lightweight handheld flashlight, a regular-sized backpack and a small carrying bag. A plastic bottle, a small roll of duct tape, about 15 feet of nylon rope, one flare, a little bit of hydrogen peroxide, an even tinier dropper bottle of iodine, a couple of bandages, quite a bit of thread, and a small white container with powder and a screw on lid.

I'd been worried that the powder was poisonous, but eventually Wren identified it as curry powder. I had no earthly idea what curry was, but she'd told Noah, who was just as clueless as me, that it was a spice for cooking.

The coagulating stick-thing Wren had used on us yesterday was gone. I don't know how she could've lost it, but I wasn't going to berate her about it.

I'd hoped that perhaps mixing the iodine, peroxide, curry powder, and maybe some orange juice in the bottle might create a dangerous explosive! Noah had grinned, while Wren had laughed at me sadly, explaining that no, those ingredients weren't about to make an effective Molotov cocktail. Hey, I could dream.

The real truth remained that while we had _stuff_, we didn't have anything very _good_. Clearly all of the truly awesome crap was gone altogether, or in possession of someone else—likely the Careers. And why did we have thread, and no needle! I was no expert sewer, but I could sew. I can't sew without a damned _needle_ however, can I! If at least we'd had some string, it might be useful, but this thread was flimsy and far too weak to really be useful.

Patching Noah the rest of the way up, Wren asks me, "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Nah, you don't wanna know what he's thinking." Noah counters.

"Probably right." She says, and the pair of them have a laugh at my expense. I don't mind, I really don't.

From nowhere a disembodied and mechanized voice barks out at all of us. "ATTENTION TRIBUTES. THERE ARE TEN OF YOU REMAINING. PLEASE KNOW THAT THE PERIMITER FENCING CANNOT BE TAKEN OUT." There was a pause and then, as if just to fuck with us, it said, "HAPPY HUNGER GAMES."

All three of us exchange glances, but Wren may have the most perplexed look on her face. "They didn't need to tell us any of that. What're they trying to tell us?"

"That we can't escape?" Noah says, shrugging.

"Who cares." I say, thinking of Farah in that moment and forcing myself from using the intensifier of 'fucking' in there. After all the Gamemakers are watching us at all times. Them adding the happy hunger games bit, really stuck in the craw, however. _Why don't you come down here and then tell me how fucking 'happy' they are_, I seethe to myself.

"Can't believe someone was trying to escape." Wren says, though she gets no responses from either Noah or myself; I throw him an expression and he returns it right back.

I am happy we all got a bath in the stream last evening. It isn't quite mid-day yet, and though the three of us were not too bad yet, but I could see by the end of the day we are going to be pretty ripe. Smell is one sense that the televisions can never clue you in on when you watch the Hunger Games from your home.  
>"We can't escape in Twelve either. Sucks, because there's plenty of good eats out in the forest." Noah volunteers, as he often does about his district. I do not mind so much, but I can tell that Wren would rather not rehash just how awful it is to be a citizen of Panem just now. "What about you guys? Are there electrified fences all around?"<p>

"Yes." Wren says quickly, "But a few days a month we are allowed to go out and enjoy ourselves. But if you wander too far, you'll get a warning. If you do it again, you get killed."

My stomach is turning in knots. If I were Farah, I'd outstrip the both of them with my complaining about how rotten it is to be in Eight. They're watching us…all of us, all the time. If we keep it up, the Gamemakers are going to unleash another tiger on us or something, I just know it. I have to change the subject. "Who is Jessamine?"

Noah gives me a shrug with a completely bewildered expression. He pays even less attention to what's going on than I do, most of the time.

Wren looks at me curiously. "She's the tribute from One. Real pretty? Reddish blondeish hair?"

"Oh right. Cynthia hated her." Noah volunteers, and while I fully expect him to lapse into depression any time the girl from Ten comes up, he surprises me and chuckles. "Had a few choice words to say about her, but being such a gentleman, I can't say them."

I outright laugh, and remind myself quickly just why I enjoy Noah so much. There may be a whole lot of things he isn't, but all of the important things in life, he has in spades.

"I've never heard her say anything to someone who wasn't a Career." Wren explains. "Seems smarter than Gage, though…I'll give her that much."

"That guy's a dick." I cannot help myself from spitting out the truth. I remember the tribute from One bullying everyone before our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. I know we need to keep moving, but I settle down against a nearby tree. The circumference of it's trunk can't be more than about four or five inches, but it is enough to rest on.

Wren says, "I hope Farah and Knox are safe. We need them."

I don't much like it when Wren gets serious. I feel like I am severe enough for everyone, so she doesn't need to go around bringing bad news. Then again, she's smart—definitely smarter than me. I think about Farah and Knox, and wonder if they aren't together. I can't explain why I might think this way. I still will honor my agreement with Farah 'till the end if necessary, won't I?

I start picking at one of the laces of my tennis shoes, as Wren and Noah fall into quiet. It would be incredible if we could hook up with Knox and Farah. Then the five of us could really take on the Careers. Knox would make all the hard decisions, and I could be a solider for once, not a Captain. I had liked Farah more than anyone else. The last few days…made that statement extremely past tense, didn't it? Now I feel like I know Wren, and Noah especially, _so_ much better. This vein of thought is genuinely disturbing, and I push the thoughts of believing that maybe it'd be better not to come across Farah at all, from my mind.

A mosquito lands on my arm, but I kill it before it can make bite me. Gnats are about the only thing that seem to be wanting to move quickly in this leeching heat. The sky is overcast, but the humidity is tremendous. I wipe at my forehead, but it doesn't much matter. It's hot, I'm sweaty. What the hell am I going to do about it right now? I am holding the little jar of curry powder. Maybe I should eat it all, might make me taste bad for insects? Wren probably has some sort of plan for the curry; if we were to catch some more meat, it might season it. Why bother? If we can catch some more rats, they have a decent enough taste on their own.

I spy my knife, sticking out of the bark of the tree adjacent to the one I'd been leaning against. It was even spindlier than my tree. How the hell did my knife get there? I reach for it, and the handle feels smooth, not gummy like it ought to. The blade is wedged in deep, and I am beyond confused as I try to yank it free. How can I have done such a thing and forgotten? Wait…my knife is still in it's appointed place on my leg. Am I hallucinating? No, I realize, seeing that the blade is silver, not dark gray like mine. It is double edged…this _isn't _my knife.

Then how'd it—the blade comes whistling through the air and chops the top portion of the tree as its airy trunk goes toppling over. Attached to that blade is an arm, and a body, a very big body. My peripheral vision makes out a torso, and legs. Lighting fast, I snatch my knife and drive it at the leather-topped hiking boot. It doesn't connect and goes skittering off the side. As I am rolling up to stand, I get kicked over, and the world goes spinning from under me as I crash roughly to the earth.

Looming like Goliath over me, the buzzed off hair and callous eyes which make contact with me. Gage's face slides out into a merciless grin. "_There_ you are, you little shit." he glowers down at me. He doesn't even seem to notice that I'd tried to stab him in the foot. I hear a girl scream, and noises that I can't quite identify around us.

"Here I am…" my adrenaline surging through me, "You know, I was _just_ saying how much of a dick you were." He snarls, but I plant my foot right into his knee, and watch him twist to the side. I slide up and even with my vision still spinning around me, I clumsily hop to miss the sword which may have very well separated my leg from the rest of itself below the knee. I wobble on one leg, but regain my center of gravity and see Gage recovering frightfully quick, furious and ready to take another swing at me. Until he is knocked sideways from a batters up blow from Noah's club, anyway.

A swipe from the District One tribute's sword sends Noah jumping back and crashing into me. I'm spinning amidst the leaves from the tree that Gage had just felled. I toss my knife, without thinking, and it goes end over end before slamming directly between Gage's shoulder blades.

He doesn't miss a beat, as he's hacking and swiping madly at Noah. This can't be. He doesn't even feel that! Impossible! My own racing pulse most all I can hear, I charge the brute. I slam my elbow into the side of his head, and yank out the knife in one fluid motion, him falling away making it easier to retrieve the blade.

There isn't any blood on it! Holy fucking shit, what the _fuck_ is _this_!

I barely have time to register this, as I see Wren screech past me in a blur of motion, while Gage throws himself onto Noah, and they go scrabbling about. That can't be good. What the—

I don't know how, my body simply reacts. I duck and a metallic whisper darts through the air and sends more branches and leaves spinning to the ground, newly severed from their homes. I can't react fast enough! I feel something slide along my arm and the burn which explodes seconds later, tells me I've been hit.

Another creature, with long limbs and an impressive height, I can't make up my mind if it's one of those sloth monsters, or Gage again, magically in two places at once. If the guy doesn't bleed, who the hell knows what else can do.

A determined look of what I associate with pure hatred, Zayne's teeth gnash as she snarls as me, wielding twin blades that slash and arc through the air with speed and accuracy. I catch another glancing blow, this time somewhere near my shoulder, but it spins me away from the Amazon. I am gripping something hard with the hand I'd used to bash Gage but I hold the knife, and make a lunging stab for the girl from Two.

Big mistake, and I feel her foot slam right into my chest, and knocks me sprawling onto the ground. My body can't take much more abuse before I start making even stupider mistakes.

Zayne chuckles darkly at me, "I'm going to kill you, then I'm going to kill that little bitch who cut and run…"

Even as this troll of a girl advances of me, I see blood on her arm and know I had nothing to do with it. _Good for you, Wren. _Zayne is holding a dagger length blade in each hand. Longer than my knife, they are single edged and have a subtle curve near the very end before they taper to their points, just like my hunting knife. Amazing how I can take all this in, and how startling the details become, right before you die.

I take a crack at her as I shimmy up back onto my feet, trying to buy some time. "Not everyone can be as _handsome_ a woman as you." I want to leave Roman laughing, if I'm going to get killed by this bitch, God damn it.

She snorts like a pig and lunges at me, scissoring through the air with flashing blades. I manage not to get trapped in their embrace, but how the fuck am I going to attack her? You can't win a battle with defense alone. Zayne tosses one of her weapons and I see it in enough time to throw my legs from under me. I lose my knife, but my left hand is still tightly around an item.

Not even a second passes before the Career is on top of me, white knuckles wrapped around her remaining knife as she is forcing it ever closer to my neck. All of her weight and muscle pressing down upon me, it's intense. Is this a girl, or a guy in a wig? She's horrendously strong as I strain against this monster of a female.

I hear Wren scream, then a shout that could be from either Noah or Gage. Zayne's angular features snap alive with renewed vigor, egged on by the sounds of battle. "You're even weaker than that redhead!" she laughs at me. Even if Zayne is overtaking me, she's still a girl, right? As the blade wavers an inch from my throat, I have to wonder, am I that weak, or is she that strong? There's nothing in those dark eyes of hers. Red hair…she killed Bells, from Three. As if I didn't have just cause already, now I _really_ want to kill Zayne. I groan against her, willing all of my muscles to respond and I get her to beg off a bit.

Just enough. I plow my fist into Zayne's side, once, then twice, as my stronger arm prevents her from killing me. She twists her head off to the side and puts all of her weight into me, I swear I can feel the blade on my throat. I open my hand which had been striking her. It's still in my hand. Leaning away, I toss it's contents best I can, right into her face.

The effect is instant. Zayne lets out a demented whooping cough and a dry scream and draws her long knife back…of course I seize the opportunity. I punch her right in the face as she goes toppling over, screeching and screaming, slashing the air wickedly with eyes full of curry powder. Unthinking and reminiscent of what happened with Arko, I slam my foot right into her side and see the six foot girl buckle and crash to the ground. She is screaming, voice hoarse and tight.

"You fucking asshole! Come here you little fucking bitch!" Zayne is howling, I see her stabbing air, but the she twists her grip, and lashes back with the flat end of the blade along her arm, and she almost tears me open. This bitch is lethal even when she can't see. I hear more sounds of fighting behind me, but as Zayne climbs to her feet, she has to have my undivided attention. I'm frantic as I look around, amidst the snapped twigs, leaves, and grass for a weapon. The blood all over my forearm is making it slick; I hope this bitch didn't get an artery or something, then I'm fucked either way.

I think she's regaining her vision as she stomps toward me, waving her blade vigorously. I see it's twin shining there on the ground and I stoop to snag it up. This allows her to kick me right back to the ground. My head is ringing ferociously, and sluggishly I remind myself that this she-man didn't get a 10 from the Gamemakers for nothing. Zayne makes a stab for me, but her depth perception is off and I manage to scoot from her incoming blow.

Lungs burning against my rib cage, I dart in and slam one of her knives into her side. I'd been aiming for her heart, but she'd moved and the blade landed down from my target. Zayne is still cutting through the air with both of her long arms, and one of them connects with me and I force myself to stay on my feet. This bitch won't go down!

She rasps and grunts, pivoting to face me and I see her cherry red eyes and a bit of blood trickling from her nose. Jarring forward her knife seems to be aiming for my face. I'm getting winded and sloppy, the knife misses me by an inch, if that, as I whirl around and drive her other knife into her lower back. A screech from the half-blind gal from Two, as she doubles forward. With a surge of energy I jerk forward and dash open the contents of her throat. Zayne is gurgling and thrashing, falling to her knees, painting the grass in her blood. As she crashes to the ground, one of her long legs even manages to knock me onto my ass for what, the twentieth time in the minute and half since this all began?

My vision dims and I feel extremely woozy as I take a moment to gain my bearings. I struggle back to my feet, and hear the clash of weapons. They're still fighting? Zayne is dying over there, I've robbed District Two of their last chance for a repeat victory. Enobaria must be going ballistic somewhere, probably biting everyone within reach. A little smile comes to my face, as I hope that Roman can keep his neck out of harm's way.

Still bleeding and lightheaded, I take a step and realize my body ends up facing an entirely different direction. Whoa, I am dizzy. I may have killed Zayne, but Gage could finish me off given the state I'm in pretty easily. Where the heck are the rest of the Careers? Shouldn't I be riddled with arrows or knives by now? I'd thought they'd sent in their heavy hitters, while the rest clung back and attacked only if necessary.

I pause and allow my body to catch up with itself before I try and rush back to Noah and Wren's aide. When I arrive, I can see that it's none too soon. Wren seems to be covered in blood, though she's still on her feet, while massive Gage Sullus from District One hacks and slashes at Noah, who from here, seems to be uninjured. I could try throwing this long knife of Zayne's, but it's odd in my hands, I might hit one of my allies. Oddly enough it is not lost on me that I must be truly committed to them, for the 'old me' would have just cut and run, given the opportunity. This Arena is taking whatever mercy I had, but it is also making me loyal.

"You _asshole!_" I yell at Gage, in an attempt to confuse him, and it works. His eyes dash over to mine, and I see Noah score a blow to the side of his massive body with his antiquated night stick. It was similar to what Peacekeepers used when they needed to wop someone on the head; of course theirs weren't made of wood.

Just as we converge on him, a cannon blast sounds and this spurs me to action all the more. Three against one, he's surely to fall. Gage looks frightened, I can see it in his big, stupid face. Regardless, he practically decapitates Wren as he begins his retreat from us; it's amazing that she dodged such a swipe, I've got a clear view as I am approaching them. I do decide to toss the knife, but my aim is low and weak. It clacks off a fallen branch and lies uselessly on the ground.

In spite of this, Gage begins to run. Not just regular running, but he bounds like he's a fucking genetically enhanced clone or something. My knife hadn't even scratched him earlier. His long strides are carrying him away from all of us quickly. Noah flings his rock hammer after the guy, but it doesn't have a great range and bites into the dust, where the trees and bushes thin out. Gage is disappearing behind the trees in record time.

I can tell just by Noah's body language he wants to chase after Gage, but after looking at me, then over to Wren, he obviously decides better of it. "Herod…she's hurt." He explains out of breath. I can see he's got a cut above his eye, but that looks more like from taking a punch to the face, than one of Gage's blows with a sword. That fucker would take your head clean off your body without even needing to exert much energy.

"Herod…" Wren is whispering at me, and coughs a bit, weak on her feet though she falls and I catch her…though the momentum brings us both to the ground.

"It's ok, you're going to be ok." I tell her speedily. As if on cue, a rain begins to fall once more, as if getting discovered by the Careers, or two of them anyway, wasn't bad enough. Oh shit, she's bleeding quite a lot. I can't tell where her wound is, but I'm pretty sure it's her leg…her upper leg. A bad place to get cut.

"_Parachutes!_" Noah screams and it makes my skin jump. "Parachutes you guys! Hang on Wren…" he is so exhausted and exasperated at the same time, he starts dry coughing as well.

Wren makes a tender, weak sound as I hold her, frightened as hell. "I think someone out there likes you."

"It's for you, I'm sure." I say, but who the hell cares, really? As long as it's something fucking _useful_ this time.

"Where…" her voice is very weak, and it really scares the shit out of me. "Where are the rest?"

I recognize she's talking about the Careers. "I…I don't know Wren. J-just shut up, ok? You're going to be alright. Don't talk." My mind is racing, and I remember seeing from some other Hunger Games where a tribute demanded that another keep talking to her, to keep him conscious. "You gotta tell me what to do, Wren."

I look down at the girl whose lap and leg are saturated in blood, then to where I see Noah jumping up and trying to catch the falling debris attached to parachutes from the sky.

_Please don't let her die_, I beg. Who am I begging? God? Fate? I don't know. Was there even such a thing as fate, or was it all just a bunch of bullshit until you die? I have no idea. Maintaining a very tenuous hold on my emotions, I swallow them down best as possible as Noah is running back toward us.

I am dizzy. Wren is bleeding. I close my eyes, but that makes me want to throw up, so I open them back up.

"Here…" Noah wheezes and tosses something at me, his momentum causing him to now crash to the ground nearby. At this rate, my _sister_ could've killed us all with a good brick. We can't stay exposed and weak like this. Gage could be coming right back. I shake off my dizzy spell, and try to see just what it is we've received.

* * *

><p>Over my new wounds, I wear two layers of things. First was an unctuous balm that smelled like camphor oil. Over the top of that, was slathered some greasy ointment which had a slightly plastic smell to it, but looked a lot like lard. Both of these gifts had been given in our parachutes. There was a lot of both the salve and the balm. It must have cost a fortune. Can sponsors go in together, to buy big ticket items? There was no way to know who the parachutes had been for. Myself? Wren? Noah?<p>

I tell Noah to watch over Wren, who even after following her instructions before she passed out, isn't doing too well.

Perhaps I am a coward once again. If Wren dies, I can't bear to watch it. It smacks awfully of what happened with Cynthia. Wren will hopefully come to. What might be worse, is that I think Noah knows that I won't be able to see Wren die. He is such a stronger man than me in so many ways. If it comes down to him and I, I am not sure what I'd do. This even supersedes my feelings toward Wren, which I don't entirely want to admit to. Noah Lind has been my buddy out here, even though initially I'd wanted to just kill him. At times he reminds me of Etch. Cecelia won her Hunger Games a couple of years before Haymitch from Twelve. Somehow if the roles were reversed, I believe I would let him win.

What! No…that isn't me. Roman would horribly disappointed. What about Mom and Dad? I can't disappoint them. But I cannot fathom killing Noah, I simply cannot. He ranks right up there with Farah, no, surpasses her. It is scary but I think if I had to kill Farah or Noah, I'd pick Farah. I want to honor my agreement with her, but I've made the same one with Noah.

I leave my allies and go stalking back through the woods. Noah is more equipped to do so, but I can't be around Wren if she's going to die. Noah was incredible. Yes he'd had two weapons, but the fact that he staved off consecutive hits from Gage's sword…it was astounding. They make them tough in District Twelve. Kenna pops into my mind, who Noah has told me came from a family of once chicken farmers. Alright…the _miners from the Seam_, are tough as nails.

I'm finding it a little difficult to breathe, but nothing I can't handle. I retrace my exact steps, and see Zayne's body lying face down, just where I'd left her. My eyes rake over the ground and I spot the other blade. Now I have a matching set of long knives. I think that's perhaps the best description for what they are. Each one, from hilt to tip, is about 15 or 16 inches long. I notice a contraption resting around Zayne's backside. It's a modified bandolier for the knives.

At first I think I can get it off her without turning her over, but it is a necessary evil. My head swims at my angle, so I am happy to plop down on the ground. Looking at her dead now, the blood all down her front from where I'd slit her throat, I almost get queasy. It is not so much the violence, her eyes are even closed, shockingly enough. It's just that I see her peculiar features. How she looks a little disproportionate. She might even be taller than six foot. She looks…_wrong_, but as I unbuckle the bandolier from her and slide it off hastily, I can't help but be overcome with a tingling of compassion.

Tena told me I think too much, and now might be a perfect example. Surely this girl before me had been picked on because of the way she looks. Her height, her squared jaw and otherwise doughy face. I think of Sia, that girl from Seven, or Jessamine from One. Beauties, both of 'em. I don't know why, but I almost am overcome. I avert my eyes from the now face-up body of the giant tributess. Even I'd made a crack about her looks. Now she was dead. She had been a heartless bitch, but…and I feel the sensation spiking in my sinuses, maybe she _had_ to be.

No…she'd killed Bells, and tried to kill Wren. She was a Career, and Careers were evil, end of story. Just look at she and Gage. They were nasty as fuck. My gaze darts around me and I wonder just why Gage wouldn't come back. If he was coming back with alone, or worse, with more Careers, we'd die. I am positive about that. Wren needs to wake up, and we need to get the fuck out of here. Thankfully these ideas had pulled me away from my bizarre feelings over Zayne. She is the second person I've killed. Is it always going to be like this, thinking so much about the people I kill?

I get up to leave, but stall, and positioning myself so that I don't have to look at Zayne, even if it is more work, I check her pockets. One is empty, but the other turns up something squishy but with texture, wrapped in some cloth. It is about three inches square, whatever it is.

My body is becoming a mass of wounds, even if a lot of them are healing. The most grievous, still had to be the gash in my side from the tree monster, where Arko had stabbed me completely by my shoulder, and though the slash I had incurred from Zayne on my forearm wasn't deep, it was fresh, so it hurt. I adjust the bandolier around me, and slide one of the long knives back in it's sheath, or try to. I miss, and it's a wonder I don't stab myself. Where do I get off thinking I'm a damn ninja or something all of a sudden? More carefully I slide it home, and keep the other long knife in hand.

It's debatable as to whether or not I need my hunting knife. Knowing that it is lightweight enough to not be cumbersome, and fits snugly on my leg, I decide it's worth it. Searching for my knife, I curse the fact that it's dark in color. I don't have time for this shit, I really don't. A rumble of thunder jars my eyes skyward. I spend a few minutes canvassing the area that my knife had to have been dropped. I find it, and it's a miracle that I do. I feel armed to the teeth as I slide that blade into it's home on my leg, and head back for Noah and Wren.

What's an even bigger miracle, is that Noah and I definitely survived the encounter, hopefully Wren too. I killed a Career single-handedly. We were only ambushed by two, when we could've found the whole set. Luck. It has to be luck. I'd told myself back home, that if I was going to win, it would be because of luck. The funny thing about luck is, the more you ponder on it, the more you wonder if things aren't pre-ordained. Even if not everything, that something, somewhere, was preventing certain things, and guiding others yet to happen. This is counterintuitive for an atheist like myself, but as I see Noah give me a look that tells me Wren's condition hasn't gotten worse, I wonder if there aren't miracles.

* * *

><p>Wren walks slowly, almost too slowly. It's great that she is walking, given the fact that I can't believe Gage didn't cut an artery or vein on her thigh, seeing how much blood she lost. We decide that Noah is in better shape to keep an eye out and attack if necessary, so it falls to me to walk with Wren.<p>

I had decided to head back south, directly back down the path I'd initially escaped from the hill, on the first day. True the Careers could be lurking around any corner, but I knew the lay of the land. The north was unknown. The flooded trees in the northwest was far too scary to consider. West meant the lake, and the tiger, or _tigers_. Definitely a no-go. Due east was up to the plateau where I'd found Cynthia and Noah. Whatever creature had chased us from there, we'd not seen since. I was loathe to return there. Northeast was valleys and grasslands, I believed, but that seemed equally dangerous.

Especially in our precarious position, it was best to go with what we knew. We could have backtracked to the southwest where we'd caught the rats, but that would mean cutting through the jungle again. Eventually we come to rest at the far east part of the thick jungle at the bottom of the hill. Our position almost mirrors where we'd set up camp last night, just on the flip side. We're further back from the stream now, but not far from where I'd first dove into it.

The land starts curling down and emptying into that basin, just out of eyesight. We're more exposed here than where we'd found Wren, but it would have to do. I settle Wren down, and find myself near collapse, too. We aren't getting a lot of food, and our bodies are taking a severe beating.

Noah decides now is the time to slice up our last orange into thirds, and so eat mine slowly and deliberately. I had seen a lot of flowering plants in the more jungle-laden areas, but no fruit trees. They might be further in. This thought aches at the back of my teeth, as I turn my gaze inland, right into the densest jungle I've seen, but though I'd been on all side of it, had yet to enter fully.

"Really, we got it good." Noah says in that tone he sometimes gets. "Some years there's no water, no food…or everything is poisonous."

While I can see his point, he didn't go through the bit with the tiger. Though I am willing to just let the comment lie, Wren speaks up.

"But that means the Careers are just as hydrated. And you act like we've got a lot of food. We don't. There aren't a lot of animals lying around to be killed."

"Because we're playing it safe. There's stuff to eat, I know there is. But we've been trying to have the best of both worlds. I bet there's all kinds of edible crap in that jungle. We've got a flashlight now."

Wren looks agitated, and again while I can see Noah's point, I toss him a similar look. What he's saying is right, but it does not need to be stated. Given the encumbrances we have, now is not the time to go striking out in some new angle. I am surprised how quickly his emotions change. In some ways I think I am more a slave to mine than Noah is to his, Noah's emotions are more malleable.

"We can't build a fire here." Wren says, looking exhausted and completely drained.

I can't blame her. It is only now into the late afternoon, and today feels as though it has been five days. Time in the Hunger Games is very subjective. You know how much is passing due to the sun and moon, and the anthem and the faces of the deceased, but it still seems changeable. This is day three, but it seems about the length of the first two combined. Obviously that can't be. It isn't as though today was so much tougher than yesterday, really. In some ways yesterday had been more grueling. Eventually I come up with the answer. It's wearing on me. Wearing on us all.

Seeing Haw, good-hearted Haw get taken down by the tiger, and then being assaulted by Zayne and Gage. Knowing that we were more exposed now, but in no position to move…it gnaws at me. Like that feeling you get in the back of your throat before you get sick, its unsettling. Even though I killed a Career who'd scored a 10, it didn't mean much. I was far more worried that Gage was going rogue…which meant he could be watching us at this very moment. If he came back, I think he might be able to slay us all. Maybe I was selling us short, after all, Noah had performed spectacularly against him today.

Noah had only gotten a six from the Gamemakers. I couldn't be certain, but I was reasonably sure that after today his odds had gone up. Yes…that awful reminder than all of this is a twisted game. Again I hear Etcher's voice in my head, and it draws me from such unhappy thoughts.

"I think," Wren speaks in small clusters, "that we can do it." Her blue eyes shift between Noah and myself. "There are only four…of them now. There are…five of us. If we can just get Knox, or Farah. We'll win."

I throw the pretty brunette a smile. I have to admit, things are looking better than I would've ever expected them to at the start. Once I'd killed Arko, I figured it was all for shit. But Haw would've joined us, I know he would've…if only he'd had the chance. This whole allegiance thing was Knox's idea. It seemed unlikely that Knox would go against his word, or defect.

I'd like to think that there was no chance in hell, that Farah would cooperate with the Careers. She hates the Capitol and she equally dislikes the Upper Districts. But she isn't an idiot. She came to play. There were many times it was easier to say that her heart wasn't in it like mine, but that may be her more guarded personality. Farah and I are not dissimilar creatures. I see this now, having been away from her for so long. Unlike Wren, she is not well read, even less so than myself, but also unlike Wren, Farah is unpredictable. I'd thought Wren was the covert specialist, but if I really get right down to it, Farah is far better qualified. Wren was calculating in any entirely different fashion than I believed either myself or Farah to be.

The pretty girl from Six was smart, charitable, careful, and patient. Of those four adjectives, the only one that I _truly_ share with Wren, is 'careful'. Wren's secretiveness before the Hunger Games had been a façade. An act, to keep herself in line and not give anything away. That was commendable, that was clever.

Farah and I…we are different than that. We live more on instinct. There was no doubt in my mind her instincts had kept her alive this long, just as mine had for me. If the Careers were to give me an ultimatum, I'd take it. Therefore I must realize that so would she. It was extremely bothersome to envision Farah in that situation, but it wasn't impossible.

Noah…_he_ would not. He'd die on their blades and hold to his principles. I admire the shit out of him for that, I can't help it. The thought is still buzzing in my head that in so many ways, if I can't win, I'd like him to. Kenna and he were very different people. I'd made the mistake of taking him at face value.

I may just be in the middle, but I think I'd rather have Noah win than Farah. Now that is strange, and a bit scary.

"Let's go hunting in a bit, ok?" Noah says to me.

I don't want Wren to hear my thoughts, so I simply nod at him. See how uncharitable I can be? Wren's biggest asset to us was her medical skills. Now she needed more medical attention than either of us. Did that make her usefulness marginalized? This didn't mean I wished ill of her…in many ways, I was closer with her than with Noah. But the 'gamer' inside of me, as Roman had coined it, could answer yes to that question.


	13. The Coming Storm

As it turns out, the little present in Zayne's pocket was food. Precious little of it, once you realize it had to be split between three people. I had divvied up the square of cornbread as evenly as possible and we'd eaten it. It had been so dry, I needed a swallow from my plastic bottle. I hadn't seen a canteen on Gage, nor did Zayne have one but that didn't mean there weren't any.

Still the fact that Roman would've sent me a plastic bottle, and not a nice canteen, seemed to suggest that maybe there weren't any in play. I will gave to give this Arena that much—water was plentiful. So much that the humidity could get unbearable at times, but no tribute was going to die from a lack of water. Even I knew that this Arena was different from most of the ones I'd seen in the past. I was all but certain that any of the dead tributes had died due to something, or someone. It was a direct action, not starvation or dehydration. Might make me wonder if this qualified as the Hunger Games, but my stomach still growled. Just because I was eating, didn't mean I was eating well. The rats would qualify as the only good meal I'd had since I got in here.

Noah and I had left Wren by herself and gone into the jungle, though not very far. Once I heard the squawks of birds that I was sure were of the same kind which ripped us up so early this morning, and when I saw an extremely long snake rise up and hiss at us, we headed out. A spider dropped on Noah and I quickly batted it off. My little flashlight's beam was not very wide, but it was powerful. Foraging through the deepest jungle any further at night seemed too closely related to suicide for either of us. I'd seen other Hunger Games. I knew that the best things were often difficult, if not nearly impossible to get at.

Whereas Gage Sullus was gallivanting off somewhere, fat dumb and happy. Well, he wasn't fat…not even a little bit. I'd prefer him off recuperating somewhere. The alternative was to figure he was tracking us. At the very least, we'd gained the knife he had thrown at me.

Wren had claimed the double-edged knife for herself. It didn't have a sheath, but it was a hell of a lot better than the straight razor…which she'd incidentally lost to Gage. She had told me that Gage was wearing some kind of padded vest, not dissimilar from the body armor that Peacekeepers wear. When she tried to cut him, the razor got yanked right out of her hand. This does make me feel better. Gage was not some robot: impervious, deadly, and fast. He would have to settle for just being the last two.

We all made a jaunt down to the stream, which seemed to have gotten shallower since the first day. I couldn't stand on the bottom and have my head above water, but someone well over six foot just might have. Now it was more like a creek, than a stream, really. Nonetheless, one by one we took off our clothes and tried to wash up. Wren had the idea of grabbing some of the sand left behind by the receding water, and use it to scrub against our skin.

It was mildly uncomfortable, but it did feel good. I got completely naked, I didn't even care. I wanted to get as clean as I possibly could. I even went so far as to scrub my teeth with sand. It took some patience, but I'd decided that the sand worked much better as a toothbrush, than as a substitute for a bar of soap. The goop we'd gotten from our sponsors, was not waterproof, but it wasn't easily soluble either. It created a kind of seal around my numerous wounds. No one's looking when I emerge from the creek buck naked. At least we respect each other's privacy.

I pull my clothes on quickly and rejoin them.

Later, as Noah goes last to bathe, I notice a flicker of metal hanging down from Wren's neck. She's only wearing her shorts and a bra, but I am not really ogling her, so much as noticing it. Why hadn't I seen it before? "What's that?"

"Huh?" she gives me, looking down and perhaps she thinks I'm talking about her boobs, until she picks up the trinket that I can barely seen in the moonlight, and gives me a smile. "Something my grandmother gave me when I was a little girl. Her family was pretty well-off, though there's just a few rich families in Six. I'm just saying that her family was doing better than most."

I nod easily, equating it to my own family. Six was a higher-numbered district than Eight obviously. On a sliding scale, seemed that they were middle class in their district, which I suppose is how you can classify my family. From the way Noah talks about Twelve, you're probably rich if you own a home with indoor plumbing and could afford to actually buy food from a market. Apparently most everything there was done in trade.

In Eight, we don't have much to trade with. In that way, sounds like life in Twelve might be better. At least there you could work your ass off, and try and become something. In Eight, you had a job. If you didn't, you were not just poor, but starving-in-the-street poor. Etch's family was almost to that point, but the Ronson's managed to keep everyone fed. When Wren tells me about her grandmother's sickness, I think of Jarem Ronson. Etcher's youngest brother hasn't been in good health since…well, ever. His medicine alone practically bankrupts the family. I hope that Mom and Dad will sack away my portion of food for Etch. It's the least they can do. I realize that Wren reminds me a little bit of Tena. Their hair and eye color were different, for one. Wren was far better educated, let's face it—_prettier_, and a little taller, but there were similarities. It's strange to think about.

"And you've got your Dad's ring. I think I'd like your parents." Wren tells me easily.

I can't help but smile a bit. I'm not sure what she could be basing that on, but I nod. "Yeah, I think you could get along with Dad. Mom isn't talkative enough for you, I don't think. I think you'd like my sister best. She's kind of pain in the butt, just like you."

Wren grins and biting on her lip, half-heartedly bashes her fist against my leg. "_Jerk_. I can't believe any girls in Eight would give you the time of day. Such a jerk."

I laugh, "Well, some have. I'm not entirely sure why, myself."

Wren is watching me and though I kind of like it, it makes me uncomfortable at the same time. "And what about you? You've gotta have them lining up." I feel a little hot faced, but girls like Wren have to know how they look. "I bet you get all pretty, and go on dates and stuff. You with your painted toenails…" I tease.

Wren laughs, "You're such a doofus! What, like you've never been on a date? You act like I'm all sophisticated and glamorous or something." Her face alters ever so slightly and I know her next comment is for the cameras. "I'm not pretty like the women in the Capitol. They've got beauty down to a science."

If Farah were privy to hearing that, I could just see her face. The mental image makes me want to laugh. Wren might be playing to the cameras, but Farah would never be caught dead saying something like that. "Hey," I shrug, "You look alright from where I'm sitting."

Busy playing with one of her braids, she gasps at me and tosses it back over her shoulder, looking away. "Shut _up_. I am not _that girl_, Herod. I kept my toenail polish because it's pretty. That's all."

I hear the crickets and a bird as Noah is dallying around in the creek and it sets my mind at ease. No tigers, I decide. Probably no Gage creeping up to kill us, either. "So…you never answered the question."

"What question?" She's looking at me again.

"If you've got a boyfriend or not."

"Why do you care?"

"I don't know. Why do you care if I've got a girlfriend?" I raise an eyebrow, throwing it right back at her.

"I'm inquisitive."

I burst out laughing. Sorry, but I can't help it. I am sitting with my knees up, and I throw my arms over them as I look out to ensure Noah is still alive. He is. "Yeah, yeah, I guess you are, huh?"

"Do you think Noah's got a girl?"

"I don't know. He's never talked about one."

"Don't see why he shouldn't." Wren says and is leaning back on her hands.

I notice this from the corner of my eye, but I'm not going to try and get a better look at her body in such full view. She's got a nice one, everything in all the right places. I don't need to see…it might be best if I don't take close inventory. Etcher would be putting the moves on her, no doubt. He's always been ten times the ladies man I ever was.

"I just don't think so." I say, returning my focus to Noah. "Ask him."

"I've got a boyfriend, kind of," she volunteers.

"Well, have you kissed him?"

I can tell she's embarrassed. "Is that what the criteria is for a boyfriend?"

"Isn't it?"

"Yes I have a boyfriend, but it's nothing too serious."

"Oh, so you've had more serious boyfriends in the past."

"I guess…" she sounds a little disapproving. "What, are you like, in _love_ with me all of a sudden, so you're concerned about any competition?"

She's looking right at me and her words force me to do the same. There's a soft beginning of a smile at her mouth, and she seems surprised, curious, and perhaps horrified all at once.

"Nah…you're my competition, not him." I say, swallowing and taking another gander at the creek. Silence more than passes between us, it fills us up and spills out everywhere. I knew it was wrong of me to be so callous, but I was getting backed into a corner and didn't have anywhere else to go.

"Wow. You sure know how to ruin the fun." Wren is teasing me, but I can hear the notes of acceptance deeper down. It's true, there is no point in trying to fall for someone in the Arena. They'll either be taken from you, or worse, you might have to kill them yourself.

Again there is a long silence. It isn't even uncomfortable really, it just is. Wren adjusts her position some, and I do the same. No more talking though, it seems I've effectively cut off all means of communication for now.

Noah splashes out of the water, and dripping, looks at the two of us. "Do I need to leave you guys alone?" he says, examining first me and then her. Teasing he adds, "I can go back and wash up some more if you need some time."

"No you idiot." I snap, using every molecule in my body not to blush.

"Nah, you're sexy enough already." Wren half giggles, and I find it a little out of character, but I have to give her credit. Now Noah is shifting uncomfortably and she's thrown it right back in his face. I decide to join in.

"Yeah, she wants you pretty bad, Noah. She was just telling me."

Noah looks embarrassed for a stroke or two, and then crossing his arms over his bare chest, looks down at Wren. A small jerk of his head and he says, "Well, alright, c'mon, lets go."

All three of us erupt in laughter, and I can barely stand it. I am cracking up. Every time I start to regain my breath, the sound of their guffaws send me right back into it. My sides are starting to hurt, I am cackling so bad. Noah is not a laugh a minute, but he had perfect timing on that one and it takes us a while to calm down. Any of the Careers in the area would've surely heard us, but I am happy that it takes me a moment to realize this. Such a release washes over me and I feel the most comfortable I have in days—the feeling is awesome.

Even if they might be my competitors down the road, right now, I have friends.

* * *

><p>I awake to find Wren about a foot away, turned toward me, her hair wild given that she'd taken her braids out. The gouge on my side tingles a bit, and as I sit up, does so even more. Those damned tree monsters. Fuck them anyway. Must've slept on it wrong because I can definitely feel it today.<p>

Noah sleeps about five feet away from the two of us, flat on his back with his head slightly lolled to one side. I'd seen it before, I can't imagine how that can be comfortable, or how he does not wake up sore as shit. Oh God. Who had the last watch, anyway? Was it me? I suspect that it might've been. Yes, it was me. I must have fallen asleep. Shit. I wipe some of the sleep off my lips and frantically look around to ensure that all of our stuff is still there.

Wait a minute, where the hell am I? My heart starts thudding in my chest as I don't recognize any of my surroundings. A camp fire, still smoldering and the sun directly overhead! It isn't morning at all, it looks to be the middle of the afternoon. There is a dull throb just to the left side of my neck. I place my hand up around my clavicle, and feel a new puffiness. What the hell? I yank out the neck of my shirt and glance down, to see gauze covering my skin, tapped up. This explains the odd feeling, but not how it had gotten there. I don't see any blood seeping through, so that's good…but I'm sure I've incurred some kind of injury.

I see the long knives I'd gotten off Zayne in my bandolier, but where is my hunting knife! It's supposed to be strapped around my shin, and I don't see it anywhere! I feel my skin crawling as I don't recognize much of anything around me. The sky overhead is bright and blue, with sunlight streaming down upon me.

Just what the hell is the last thing I remember? My brain is foggy. Maybe foggy isn't even the right word, it feels fuzzy and disjointed. Like the lens of my memory has been smeared with petroleum jelly. I start prodding around on my own body, lifting up my shirt a bit and feeling the wound on my ribs. Ok, from the sloth-like thing on the…second day. I remember. My shoulder…that was from Arko. The slice across my forearm I'd incurred from Zayne, is so light pink on me, it looks almost healed. I see a few new scratches along my left hand. The flesh around them, my own skin, looks a bit discolored as if it was bruised? No its darker than a bruise. Looks like it's been dyed with something very indelible. What the fuck? I don't remember them from before. Also the dull throb behind my bandage, about five or so inches above my heart. My stomach growls voraciously at me.

I remember laughing with Wren and Noah. I remember talking about fish that may or may not be swimming in the creek. I remember seeing Haw's face in the sky, and I vaguely remember talking about how nice both he and Cynthia had been to everyone, what a shame it was that they were Reaped. I remember eating meat. I don't know how the hell I can tell that, but I remember meat, the smell of it. Rat again? Or was it rat from when we'd first found Wren? Someone was screaming…no it wasn't someone, but some _thing_. Feeling my whole body feel foreign to me, like ants marching over my insides, I can't take it anymore!

"_Wake up!_" I yell.

Wren Astoris jerks up instantly, her eyes wide and darting, until they find me and she breaks out into a loud smile. "Herod, oh Herod!" she practically trips over herself, slamming her body into mine, hugging me so tightly that it hurts. "Are you alright? You're awake!"

I feel dizzy, but it feels very good to have Wren's arms wrapped around me, chest-to-chest, even if it hurts. "What…where am I?" It sounds so cliché, but I really have no idea. This part of the jungle we're in, looks completely foreign to me. Through a few loosely leaved bushes, I see what looks like a lot of water. The lake? I don't remember going to the lake.

"I'm so glad you're alright." She says urgently, giving my hand and squeeze and smiling bigger than I'd ever seen her before. "Does it hurt?" One of her hands is on my shoulder, the other is lightly applying pressure over the bandage just down and over my neck.

"Ouch! Yes!" I yell at her, confused as shit and frankly, a little terrified. "Wren, where are we?"

A look of solidarity crosses her features and she sweeps some of her hair behind and out of her face. "What's the last thing you can remember?" she asks me.

"I'm trying to fucking find that out for myself!" I shout and try to get up, but the world spins and I go crashing back down, woozier than before.

I see Wren's lips moving but it's drowned out by a shout from Noah. Now I see him sitting up, smiling and excited. What…the Gamemakers allowed all three of us to win? Why the hell was everyone so happy, and where the _fuck_ was I!

"What day is this?" I say, swallowing and move my gaze unsteadily between Noah and Wren.

"It's the fifth." Noah says.

"The _fifth!_" I am goggling at him, but Wren, who now looks both a little sad as well as happy, nods in agreement. My mind spins around this fact…I thought it was what, the third…or the fourth? The last real thing I remember was all of us laughing about Noah and Wren hooking up. "Whose dead?"

"No one." Wren tells me.

Noah is shaking his head, "Nuh uh, not since that girl from Two and Haw."

How is this even possible? I lose a huge chunk of time, and no one has even died! I listen intently, even as I feel like a stranger in my own body, as mostly Wren recounts what happened.

* * *

><p>"So…I got attacked by toxic monkeys." I say slowly.<p>

"Yeah, purple ones." Noah adds with a bit of a grin.

Now rain is coming down very hard, and he's working hard to cook some rats. I recognize their shape, skinned and raw. They aren't as big as the ones I remember, but he's got four of them—two skewered on flimsy pieces of wood I can't believe haven't caught ablaze, and two more waiting dead on the ground.

Under any other circumstances, I would've either laughed my butt off, or called for a psychiatric evaluation. I vaguely remember one of my teachers back home saying something about a girl who talked to a cat that kept disappearing. A crash of thunder rumbles and bellows low and deep. My eyes hurdle up to the sky and I exhale and rub at my head.

Apparently I'd killed one of the monkeys, and they'd killed the other…I guess there were only two. Even in my fogginess I wonder how it is I got attacked and neither of my allies get a scratch on them? Maybe this is arrogant of me. I ought to be impressed, more than anything. I can't help but tell by the expression on Noah's face, that all of us—me especially—are lucky to have gotten away from the encounter.

Now we were down at the bottom of the Arena. Way down. I can't see it from here, but they tell me this as I sense the steep walls of earth hemming us in on every side. In the basin's bottom. After the monkeys, half way down, I'd all but collapsed on them and they'd had to drag me the rest of the way. It had been Noah's idea. I sure never would've come down here, but if I could believe everything they were telling me, it had been a wise decision. They had seen bats, Noah said, moving in a straight line, one after the other, earlier today. Is that how bats are supposed to fly, like geese in formation! That just _sounds_ wrong, even if it isn't.

"Eat…" Noah tells me and hands me my own hunting knife, skewering a very dead, but delicious-smelling rat. As I rip into the flesh, and sear my teeth a bit, I let it cool off, though the greasy taste of the meat screams at my taste buds, demanding me to take more. "There's something in the water…" he goes on to explain. "It got me."

"On his leg," Wren says, watching me in a way that I know is more like a nurse tending to a patient, than a one friend to another. "I don't know what the hell it is, but it ripped him up pretty bad."

Noah hands Wren a rat on the knife that had once been Gage's, but apparently now belonged to her. "Do you wanna see?"

My initial reaction is definitely yes. I want to see what happened to Noah's leg. Fingers slick with rat fat and grease, I decide to go ahead and shake my head. I have a sudden change of heart, but no one seems disappointed. I envision something awful, like a shark. No…that's not too likely. A shark would've ripped off his leg, and it was definitely still attached to his body.

"By the way Wren," I tell her, "you're getting around much better."

"It's the medical supplies we got parachuted in to us. I've been careful as I can not to over use it. We've still got quite a lot." She states. Wren may be downplaying her own abilities, but it does seem logical. Even the best nurse, doctor, shaman, or healer, can do as well as what they've got in their inventory. I find myself appreciating Wren for a few seconds not just for her beauty, but her brains as well. This was not a difficult task at all.

A horrific thunder strike, and my heart skips a beat. Figures that I would wake up just in time for bad weather.

The word 'bad' might not do it justice—_awful_ weather, more like. We are getting rained upon, but the waxy leaves of the plants nearby keep us from getting completely doused. As I munch on the rat like a savage, I can tell that if the weather keeps up, we'll be soaked to the bone soon anyway.

"Haven't gotten any more parachutes either," Noah says as Wren and I stuff our faces; I'm all but done cleaning off the rat. It wasn't very big to begin with. As if reading my thoughts he says, "You can have another, just as soon as it's done cooking."

That news does not particularly surprise me. By the fifth day, it has to be very expensive for sponsors. Even Jessamine and Gage's sponsors, I'm sure they had plenty of rich ones, might be finding it hard to buy them supplies. So there were still nine of us left. I cannot help but wonder what my current odds might be going off at.

I rip into my second rat, with no table manners whatsoever. The first one seemed to have just gotten me all ready for the next, which I demolish in short order. What would I have done without these two? I'd be dead, that's what. Farah…I hoped she was still alive, don't I? Poisonous purple monkeys. It's laughable to think about. Sounds like a complete crock of shit, like it were from a fairytale. I have lost an entire day in the Arena. Under the circumstances, I suppose that is alright, but I cannot believe my good fortune. My allies carried me down here.

On the other hand, weren't the Gamemakers or more importantly, the public getting antsy? I remember when the people who more closely follow the Games than me back home, would get irritated if no one died for too long a period of time. I killed Zayne almost two whole days ago, and no one had died since. I'm not complaining. Maybe it is just that I cannot believe my good fortune. Oh that's right, I got picked for the Hunger Games when I'd barely taken any extra tessera and I wound up getting picked by Jarvis. That wasn't luck, not even a little bit.

The skies are angry and very dark gray. Less than 10 minutes ago, it had been brilliantly sunny, now a storm is raging. Strokes of lightning crisscross the sky and thunder roars along behind it. Rain is coming down very steadily, which has us trying to protect our meager fire. Unfortunately it seems to be a lost cause, as the pit had been built too far out from under the tree line and with rain like this, it won't hold out very long. At least Noah was able to cook the rats before Mother Nature struck. No…it isn't Mother Nature at all. It's a mother_fucker_, but not nature; the Gamemakers are evil, I have convinced myself of this.

It seems that at the bottom of this basin, it is relatively safe except that in the storm, we don't have much shelter. There are a few small groupings of some real trees, some of which we're currently occupying space beneath, but apart from this and a few bushy areas, it's low, flat, and open. An unease settles down in the pit of my stomach.

"So we've been down here for how long?"

"Maybe what…fifteen, sixteen hours or so?" Wren says, being analytical as is her tendency as she gives a conspiratorial look to Noah.

Noah says, "Yeah, about that, maybe a little longer. Shit…the fire's out."

The words aren't even off his lips entirely, as a crackling bolt of lightning fans and arcs wide across the sky. It is beautiful, we've got a terrific view down here, but the rain is now pouring down. Only a few parts of me are dry, and I am certain they won't be much longer.

"I think we need to get out of here." I tell them. "I'm so thankful you kept me safe, but I am surprised that we _are_ safe down here. It's such a perfect place to get ambushed by the Careers. Where are we going to run to?"

Noah looked at me insulted, I could tell. This storm had to have something to do with the Gamemakers and their impatience. It was just a gut feeling. No, it was more than that. I was sure of it.

"The sides are steep. We'd better get going if we're going to, this rain isn't going to make it easier," says Wren. "Yeah, we're sitting ducks down here. Besides we know Knox or Farah aren't here, so there's that, too."

"Why don't you two go, then." Noah says coolly.

"Don't be like that," I say.

Noah's eyes match the sky, gray and temperamental as he throws me a nasty look. "Like _what_, Herod! Because I am younger than you two, my idea has to be stupid, right? I'm the brain-dead hick from nowhere District Twelve!" his features twisted into something I'd not seen before. "I listen to you all the time, I've saved you, both of you countless times…not to mention that we've been safe down here, and well-fed. I just killed, cleaned, and cooked those rats you weren't too good to eat. How come it is every idea of mine is dumb, _huh!_" His voice is wavering, almost about to crack as he turns his attentions more on Wren. "And what about you! When Herod's unconscious you're all willing to listen to all my suggestions and think I've got good ideas. He wakes up and not 30 minutes later, I'm a piece of shit for telling us to come _down_ here! Fuck you Wren!"

I am completely stunned. I probably shouldn't be, but the outburst catches me entirely off guard and I can do nothing but just gape at my closest ally since the first night.

Wren says softly, "No that isn't it at all. Neither of us think you're stupid, Noah. He's right though. I've been worried about getting attacked down here all along. _Please_ don't take it as a person affront to—"

"Oh shut up." He skewers her with his eyes, and tilts his head down and sets his jaw.

This doesn't surprise me half as much as Wren shooting a vicious look right back at Noah. She proceeds to stand and walking to where most of our possessions were, starts throwing the small carrying case we'd found her with over her shoulder. I see her take the knife we'd gotten from Gage as well, and throws it in the case. It definitely makes me wonder just what might have transpired between these two while I was unconscious. Maybe nothing, it could just be the stress of the situation. But seeing Wren behave that way, definitely got the gears of my mind turning. There is silence, long strokes of silence, only the sound of rain and thunder as accompaniment.

"I'm sorry." I tell Noah, as rain now starts pinging off me, having battered down the leaves which had formed a decent canopy overhead. I watch him for a good 10 seconds, not adding anything else. I might have liked to add 'I didn't mean it like that' or something to that effect, but I can see where that would come across as patronizing. "Ok? I _am_ sorry."

Finally he meets my eyes and nods. He pushes himself up off the ground, and grabs his rock hammer. It isn't much larger than one you might use to pound in nails. It's been a good weapon for him, no matter it's size. My hunting knife and it's holder is now strapped around his leg, but I notice the absence of his wood club. I do not press the issue as I snag the long knives, and cinch the bandolier around me.

"I can take the backpack, if you want." I offer to Noah. Then I almost cringe as I expect him to blast me.

"Nah, I'm good. Can you walk…still dizzy or anything?"

Him asking me sends a placebo effect and I do feel disoriented for just a scant second or two. "No, I'm ok. Let's get going before the rain gets any worse."

Climbing the walls of this bowl-shaped natural feature couldn't have been exactly easy under the best of circumstances. We were now trying to do so in pouring rain. It reminded me of when Cynthia was unconscious. The rain was that heavy. The droplets were so fat that after a while, you felt them on your body like an uncomfortable massage.

During our ascent we saw lightning strike a tree up above on level ground near on the opposite side of the basin. This made Noah jump, lose his footing and slide a ways, but he recovered. I'd already almost fallen once, and Wren had managed to fall three times already. The first time I'd thought she'd broken her leg or something as she rolled and slide back down the sides, but she'd recovered. By now she was already ahead of both me and Noah again. She weighed less than we did, is that why she was recovering so quickly? Her leg looked tons better sure, but it must've still hurt.

There were some gradual footholds, though my sneakers gained purchase, they were now thick with mud and were nearly as slippery as the ground. I'd thought about trying to hold my leg out, to have the heavy rain wash the crap off my shoes, but that hadn't gone very well either. I'd almost twisted my ankle, trying to prevent a nasty tumble down the hill. Above me, I could see Wren and barely hear her grunting, as she clawed viciously at the ground, and seemed to get herself up and over the lip. She was attacking this thing with more fervor than most of the other projects I'd seen her undertake in the past few days. Was it still what Noah had said, telling her to shut up? Or was it just anger with our situation overall?

I couldn't believe that we hadn't been besieged by bats, poisoned monkeys, snakes, or anything else the Gamemakers might throw at us. What is it they were showing us, mercy? As I finally roll over the edge and away from that basin, rain pelting down on me, I have to wonder. I'd been so fortunate throughout my time in the Arena.

I'd managed to stay alive after aligning myself with a guy that, at first glance, I didn't want anything to do with. I'd miraculously happened upon another ally, smarter where I was dumb, not to mention her medical skills. A tiger kills one of our allies, but doesn't chase me down. We get attacked by Careers, but just two of the five that had been left. If I did not know better, I'd think the Gamemakers wanted me to win. I knew I was smart, that I over-thought my conditions and tried to save myself from every possible problem, but was I really that good? I was almost certain that I was just that damned lucky.

It's why I'd chosen Roman Furyk over Arlisa, Cecelia, or Woof. He'd gotten lucky during his Hunger Games, I remember it reasonably well. It didn't make any sense to assume that if he had received some luck that I, his pupil, would be bestowed the same. However look around me! I was still here. Every big decision in my life, I made offhand. I was not exactly reckless, but every choice with long-lasting consequences, I listened to my gut, and dove in with both feet.

Roman had called me a 'gamer'. Is all that me meant, was that I was _gambler_? That seemed far more a reasonable adjective to use.

"Noah, are you alright!" I yell to him, realizing that we're woefully exposed to anyone who might be watching, but I cannot care right now. I'm more exhausted than I had anticipated, climbing up the sides of the damned basin. Wren is standing about 20 feet away from me, closer to the tree line, but I don't see Noah.

"Yeah, I'm comin!" he yells, and eventually I see him throw an arm and leg up over the side. I bend to help him up the rest of the way.

A flash of white ignites all around me like my retinas are on fire._ Blam! _

I blink, and see the darkened skies over me, rain pelting down all over me. I feel light, but not really dizzy. I feel like I could float right off the ground. Apparently I flip myself over, however. I don't actually recall wanting to do so, my body simply does, as I feel detached. It's like my body is holding a balloon which are my thoughts. Attached, but not very well. I can't say how long this peculiar sensation lasts, but then I seem to connect my body and mind once more.

Wren is sitting on the ground, Noah is laying face-down near me. As if on a very long delay, my ears start ringing. I absolutely hate that sensation, and I fight the urge to shake my head or yell, but it's completely annoying. When I start shouting for Noah, my own voice sounds strangled, like I'm hearing people talk while I am underwater. I see him stir, and this does much to calm my fears. Just what the hell—the lightning. _Did I just get hit by lightning!_

Finally I get Noah into a sitting position and discover that he is not directly injured. Like me, his ears are ringing, the same goes for Wren, who it took a considerable effort on my part to understand when she yells at us. She wanted to hurry and get under the trees. Even though I have serious doubts inside my buzzing little world, Noah and I do not have much opportunity to argue. Another lightning flash comes close, or it _seems_ close at least, and we are following her in and amongst the trees. Doesn't lightning hit trees?

We had lightning and storms back in District Eight, but I had trouble thinking of anyone I knew who'd actually been hit by lightning. Apparently I did not fall into that category either, same goes for Wren and Noah. I couldn't find any injury on my body, except for my ears. The ringing had gone finally, though it still sounded as though my allies were talking through a tube when I listened to them. I knew thunder could be loud, intrinsically I did. But I never fully realized just how loud the actual lightning strike could be.

Recognizing this part of the Arena, I can't help but feel uncomfortable. We had climbed up from out of the bottom of the basin by the most direct route possible. This isn't far off from where I had been attacked by Arko, or where Cynthia had died. Noah seemed to be aware of this too, as he was fidgety and anything but calm. Wren probably assumed it was due to the storm that had rolled in, and perhaps being struck at by lightning once more, but I knew better.

Some places just carry a bad energy with them, and this little strip of land sandwiched between where the rocky slope and the east lip of the basin, was unquestionably full of bad energy.

Though the lightning seemed to me moving through, as we hear strokes of it crashing further and further away from us, the rain doesn't seem to be following the same orders. I am absolutely drenched from head to toe, as if I had been standing in the shower for some time with all of my clothes on. My confusion earlier, and knowing that I had lost the better half of two days, I didn't know how to feel.

Where were the Careers? Where was Gage, if he wasn't with the others? Where was Farah? Where was Knox? It's surreal to know people are in here with you, but not being able to entirely 'know' them within the Arena. Gage was the only one I was certain was in here. I'd seen him, he'd seen me.

I do not know whether staying put, or trying to find somewhere better than this, would be smarter. I am not going back up onto that plateau. Apart from the monster that seems to reside there, I have had enough of trying to crawl and claw my way up muddy embankments. The rocky area where I'd seen the peacock was more exposed than here. I do not want to admit it to myself, but heading north might be the best option.

Someone said what you don't know, wont hurt you. Whoever said that is a complete idiot.

* * *

><p><em>Thurio Malfelas had returned to the control room with a bowl full of chocolate covered cherries. They were his most favorite dessert, and considering how many the Capitol had to choose from, it was saying something. Sweet, but not too saccharine, as Thurio would never be accused of being nice. <em>

_He is growing increasingly impatient with President Snow, and his bizarre demands to not hurry these Hunger Games along. Normally some of the tributes would've been dehydrated by now, but again, thanks to Snow's demands that this year the Games be rather au naturel, this was not the case. _

_So what if Flickerman and Templesmith were saying that this year all of Panem had time to really designate a favorite. Screw that, Thurio thinks to himself, they have plenty enough time to formulate favorites any other year. Everyone in the Capitol seemed to be enjoying these Games, and Thurio simply could not see why. Different for the sake of being different, does not mean better, in his estimation. The 62nd Games might best be labeled as traumatic. Enobaria had savaged her way to the top. Precisely the sort of Hunger Games that Thurio lived for. _

_For these 63rd, he was the Head Gamemaker, though to his way of thinking, much of that was in name only. President Snow had to be acknowledged, and obeyed. Thurio believed that Snow might be thinking that if you have terribly horrific games back-to-back, the senses of the denizens of Panem might be dulled to new extravagances in horror. The Gamemaker is certain that if he'd been able to do what he'd truly wished, he would have cemented himself in history. Instead he's sure he is being forced to dull his sharpness, as these dullard children explore and exploit one of the most fertile Arenas in Thurio's memory. _

_Idiots…all of them were idiots, he was convinced. Several times it had taken all of his restraint not to unleash certain muttations upon the tributes. Snow wouldn't let him do what he truly wished. During their last meeting, the President had simply said, "Humility…" almost as if it were a question, before departing. Thurio didn't understand, nor did he much care to. Snow was a rat bastard just like himself. Difference was, in Thurio's mind, that he himself could admit it. _

_Within his private quarters, Coriolanus Snow had chosen not to view the live Hunger Games feed. Tonight his mouth was particularly tender, as he removed the medicine-treated gauze from his gums and rapidly discards it. Thurio was in fact following orders, Snow could acquiesce that much._

_Snow was not seeing what he had wished from Malfelas, however. Responding to orders, diligently, silently, and proudly was what Snow expected. Malfelas was doing what had been required of him, but was outwardly expressing his dissatisfaction to far too high a degree. If you cannot temper yourself, and give your own ambition over to the Capitol's greater good, what use are you? Snow was sure of one thing._

_Individuals who have too strong a sense of themselves, unwilling to bend as necessary, ought to be treated like a wild rose in a flower bed. Interesting yes, in it's way. But it simply cannot be allowed to thrive, or worse yet, propagate. _

_Snow was quite certain that he would be able to appeal to Malfelas' bloodthirsty side yet. Yes, once these games were through, Malfelas would have the carnage he desired. A little scenario flits through Snow's head. Such gory details, unbecoming of a gentleman such as himself. _

_Thurio Malfelas so enjoyed violence, he seemed to want to gorge himself on it, like a leech. These Games would soon be over. Then, the blood-monger would be left to…drink his fill. _


	14. Vampirfledermäuse

"I wonder what happened with Haw's body. I know the Gamemakers collect them…or they used to…" Noah was saying, absentmindedly.

The three of us had decided to wait out the storm in the copse of trees, as I tried my best not to recall just where I had killed Arko. I was almost certain however, it was maybe 100 yards or so, to the east of us. Now I was sitting beside Wren, and even if she was my ally, and a completely different person than her bespectacled district-mate, I was unnerved. At Noah's comment, I almost want to throw up. I understand that he might've just been trying to keep the conversation going, but this wasn't the way.

Wren gave Noah a glare as she finished braiding her hair. As well spoken as the brunette girl was, if she was dead silent it didn't take a scientist to figure what she might be thinking.

The rain had let up, but only just by the smallest of margins. Beneath the flimsy boughs of these jungle trees, we could hear that the rain wasn't quite as rambunctious as it once had been. I don't think I much care anymore what the weather is doing. As Wren heads off to relieve herself, I lapse into comfortable quiet with the boy from Twelve.

It seemed like I ought to say something to him, encouraging or helpful, but nothing was coming to mind. This was not because silences with Noah were uncomfortable, quite the opposite was true. But I remember that Cynthia's life had been ended not too far removed from where we currently sit; it has to be on Noah's mind.

It had been five days since I came into this Arena. I know I've lost weight, I can feel it in the way I move. I would have never been referred to as stocky, but I definitely have lost a little of my mass. Only five foot six and one quarter, I still remember Avella's assistant measuring me, and already a killer. Was my Mom proud of me, or was she disgusted that her only son was a murderer? What might have frightened me most, is that both of those could be true. Even if I had been forced into the Hunger Games, Mom had never killed anyone. Dyne had never killed anyone. Etcher and Tena, they were both innocent of murder. The only person in my life before these Games that I could relate to on that level, was my father.

"We're alright." Noah says, splitting the silence with his eyes on me.

This takes me aback, but I throw him a bit of a smile and nod just the same. Now I was one hundred percent sure that his brain had been marinating in unpleasant thoughts. "You good on how to throw that knife?" I say this plainly. He should know this is no critique on his abilities, but I might be able to help him out if need be.

"Nah, I think I'm good with it. Is it alright that I've got it? I lost my club when I was in the water down there…"

"Sure. Glad you got away." It seems a bit sappy to say this to Noah, although it absolutely isn't because I am lying. I suppose he really has become my surrogate Etcher out here, despite differences in their personality. Etch would tell me to shut up if I said something like that. Then again, he'd told me he loved me before I left on the train for the Capitol. My thoughts shift from my friend in the Arena, to the one I've had most of my life back home.

"You know I hate the sight of blood." Noah volunteers to me, his gray eyes serious, though I can tell that he would not be too offended if I were to chuckle. I don't, of course.

"Don't think I much like it either…" I admit nonchalantly. Of course my mind goes to just what could've suddenly drawn this on, but I think it might be best to not ask.

Noah shakes his head a little. "No Herod, I mean I really _hate_ it. It just grosses me out. If you see a lot of it, it means something's dying, y-you know?"

"Yeah." I say, looking him straight in the eye. I am unsure just where this conversation would head next, or quite how he'd arrived at such a confession, but I owe him too much to make light of it.

"Bet Wren knows the fancy name for a person who is like me." Noah says with a little smile. "She _can't_ be afraid of the sight of blood, she wants to get in the medical field. You don't get scared of it either, not like me. I've always been that way, it makes me almost want to pass out."

This information is startling, and gives me even more respect for Mister Lind here…I knew for a fact he'd seen some blood in this Arena. First time he saw me, I was covered in the stuff. "What about when you're fighting?"

"That's different. My instincts just take over. I don't have time to be wigged out. Hey…why are you looking at me like that?" he asks with a look of trepidation. "I don't mean to sound weird or anything, I just…"

"No, it's nothing at all Noah. I think it's cool that you're telling me." Such a strange conversation, but being in the Arena, where the loss of blood almost always means death, it is oddly fitting. "I don't really have any phobias, but I'm weird too. I'm sure there's something I'm terrified of, I just haven't come across it yet."

"Hope you never do."

Something stirs inside of me, and I have to look away from him, as my emotions are trying to get the best of me. Such a little thing to say, but it strikes me right in the heart, and I don't want to look Noah in the eye right now. Silence is actually soothing and I manage to bottle up whatever it was inside of me that wanted to escape. I don't know if my fourteen year old companion knew this too, or if he simply didn't have anything else to add.

"Are you guys alright?" Wren asks us, and I jerk my head up to see her, hand around a tree that looks quite a bit like something I believe is called bamboo. I am not entirely sure how long we've been sitting in quiet, but based on her expression it must've been a little while.

"Yeah." Noah says. I simply nod my head in agreement.

Wren is looking beyond the trees, squinting. "If you guys say so. How much longer do you think we ought to stay here? I don't think this storm is letting up."

We are all soaking wet, but had we started out here when the bad weather hit, we might still be dry. "I don't know." I admit, feeling comfortable saying these words to both Wren and Noah. That hadn't been the case days ago, but if they could drag my body down to the basin's bottom and keep me alive, surely I had lost some of my mystique. "Seems like the only place left to go, in north."

"Where is everybody?" Wren sighs. "Haven't heard a cannon in days."

"Maybe that's it." I explain. "No one is killing each other, so they start this storm to see if anyone does anything dumb."

"You can sure count that ass from One in, then." Noah quips.

Wren gives him a weak smile, but in her voice that made me think she was a statistician, says, "Seems reasonable they are trying to flush everyone out. If only we could find Farah or Knox."

"Gotta figure they're not with us for now." Noah states. "Haven't seen them since what—the first day, right? Together or apart, I think they've got their own thing going. I say we go north."

"Is that it, then?" Wren asks me, obviously unwilling to weigh in herself.

Though it is hardly a unique position for myself to be in, I am of two minds. Part of me wishes that wherever the Careers are, we won't come across them ever again. I think I'd rather talk it out, amongst the three of us, as to who ought to win these Hunger Games. The other half, wishes to have as speedy a resolution as possible. This was only day five. Sometimes the Games can last a week or more. A couple of years back I remember they went for 12 days. Twelve…that would mean that we weren't even halfway done. This thought is more frightening. I would rather die, or at the very least lose my friends, than deal with this Arena for another week? Acknowledging the answer is yes, makes it worrisome.

"Yeah." I tell her, but give a nod toward Noah. I know the fourteen-year-old is feeling much like I am. I think it may have something to do with being guys. We aren't set up to wait around forever; we're naturally impatient. Everyone dies in the Hunger Games. Why prolong the agony? Somewhere inside I have severe reservations about this, but getting a nod from Noah, I stand and ensure my weapons are all where they ought to be.

The three of us have been walking for what feels like 15, maybe 20 minutes when the rain slackens. This does not mean that it isn't raining, but, all three of us having downed the contents of my water bottle and knowing it was full again, what other use could we have for more rain?

I feel awfully exposed as we stand at a crossroads in the Arena. Directly northeast of us, leads down into a steep valley that is comprised on the east side, by the steep western and northern sides of the plateau. The valley's west wall is comprised of the long eastern shelf of land that seems to ring around the absolute highest point in elevation of the entire Arena. If we were to walk due west, we'd land back in what I'd called the 'middle jungle', where I'd killed Zayne. The basin is to our south, and the pond where Noah had gotten attacked by something had nearly quadrupled in size. I get a chill, thinking of what it might've been like to be trapped down there with whatever was in the water.

"Come on, lets go." Wren is urging us, her hair once again back in dual plaits, which all slicked down and the dried blood on her shoulder from the bird attack days back, make her look like a proper tribute. She looks to be heading down toward the valley, at least until Noah shouts for her.

"Wait! That looks like an excellent place to get ambushed." He says conversationally as rain runs down him.

"It leads north. This is where you guys said you wanted to go." She murmurs, looking a little tired, with her patience wearing a bit thin. Now she is looking at me, as if to verify that we need to do less talking and more walking. "Got any better ideas?"

"Yeah, this way!" Noah points out with an outstretched finger. If you follow the western wall of the valley down from it's sharpest point, the sheerness of it becomes more and more gradual. If we were to angle northwest, we could circumvent both the valley and the steepest spot in the Arena. From the looks of it, this would allow us to pass between the highest point shrouded in thick jungle, and the very center of the Arena.

My instincts told me that Noah was right about that valley. It might be perfectly safe, but luck had been on our side too much for my liking. Eventually you're going to wind up on the bad side of luck, and that valley just didn't seem like a good option. I fall into step beside Noah, leaving Wren to bring up the rear. I know she doesn't like it, but she isn't going to split off from us, either.

Steady but now light rain falls upon us as we make our way upon Noah's prescribed path. There are a smattering of trees and bushes all along here, but nothing that would constitute an actual jungle. Noah and I made conversation, as Wren brought up the rear, occasionally interjecting something. She didn't like to make any moves that didn't seem to yield the best results on paper. I was definitely attracted to Wren, but in that way she was too smart for me. I would not necessarily have became friends with either of them in my normal life. But of the two, Noah was easier to see fitting in with my friends back in Eight.

We pass from the openness of before, to a marginally obscured landscape. To our right looms an extremely high plateau of sorts, seeming to be covered in very dense trees. It is at least doubly high as the one where I'd first found Cynthia and Noah. I have no idea how any tribute could've possibly gotten up there, unless they were accomplished mountain climbers. I am sick of being wet, but I have to remind myself it is far better than dying of thirst. Both Noah and I jarringly come to a halt. We see something ahead that absolutely stops us.

Perhaps fifty feet ahead of us, a person leans over the body of another. My skin feels like its on fire with anticipation but also a little bit of hope. Is that…?

"Please get up!" a girl is half crying, her back to us. It's Farah.

I dash forward, Wren right alongside me, even with her over-the-shoulder bag, while Noah lags back a bit further. He'd been right next to me. My vision seems to become a tunnel as all I can see is Farah leaning over someone there.

No, it isn't Farah.

The hair is coppery blonde, not brown at all. My blood boils as I recognize the girl whose name was Jessamine, entirely oblivious to our entrance as she is leaning over the person. It isn't just anyone, it is the girl from District Seven. Her darker skin color makes her easily identifiable even from here. I know Wren is just behind me, so I slide one long knife free and advance.

"God, _please_ get up…" Jessamine moans pitifully, I am gaining on her so close that I can now see there is some natural curl in her hair. How could these girls be so stupid? Seven…I guess her name is Sia, looks down for the count from here. She's lying on her stomach with one arm extended at an odd angle. _Good_, I think, she's dead or dying. Poisoned perhaps. I can slit Jessamine's throat, and stab Sia for good measure before the girl from One will even have time to know what's happening.

I hear one of them gasp, and I charge forward.

No, the gasp was from behind me! It's then that I am knocked flying, the world spinning from under me as I go sailing through the air and crash onto the earth, gasping and weak like a fish on land. I can't get my breath. I can't breathe, oh my God I cannot breathe! Panic sets in as I struggle to get some breath. When I finally manage to, my whole chest hikes up in a sharp pain in my side. Wavy designs dance before my eyes as I attempt to roll over. It isn't until I see so many shapes from in and around the trees, that I realize we've been ambushed.

My lungs shake and beg for more oxygen, but I can do more than take tiny little breaths. I'd been hit with such a force, my brain vaguely bothers to recognize I am lucky to be conscious.

"Get on your knees!" someone bellows, and my head absolutely swims—I'm finding it difficult to focus. I can barely flip over, let alone drag my ass up to my knees. Where is my knife? Fuck…I've dropped it.

Like a bad dream, I see Wren slowly lowering herself onto her knees, eyes practically bugging from her head. With looming wrath, Gage Sullus snarls and it curls back into a devious laugh. "You stupid bimbo." He is clucking at one of my closest allies, brandishing that long straight sword of his. "I knew these fuckers were too stupid to fall for it, but I expected more from you."

"You musn't judge her too harshly…" comes a cool, detached voice that is unmistakably female. Jessamine walks right past me and I see a curved scabbard hanging from her hip, containing a weapon that must've been longer than my long knives, but shorter than Gage's sword. "Inferior breeding all down the line. I don't know how these lesser districts feel they've got a chance, to begin with. I knew we should've killed her straight away, Arko warned us about her." Jessamine continues her speech as I struggle to breathe, frozen and trying to decide if I've got new wounds.

I see Noah being brought forward, no weapon in either hand, as that rat-faced asshole from District Four marches him forward, a big knife in his hand. They are about as equal distance from me as the tributes from One and Wren.

Noah and my eyes meet, and I don't know what's preventing him from kicking that guy in the balls, and dashing off into the jungle. He'd been disarmed, but it was better to try…

"She's kind of pretty, Jessa." Gage's big, stupid voice booms out with a superiority that was so well enforced, it was part of his DNA.

"We'll see about that." The strawberry blonde says, as she strides near and nearer to her district-mate and Wren. I can see the knife held loosely at her side, and my entire body is screaming, and I finally gain a grasp on the handle of my remaining knife. "Who should we kill first, hmm?" Jessamine is speaking to Wren. "That twiggy little bastard," she now motions with her knife toward Noah, "or this one?" as she turns back to me.

"Think she likes him, Jessa." Gage laughs from his position over Wren, caught in the web that we'd led her right into. "She stopped breathing when you pointed at that little fucker…" he glowers over at me.

Before I know what's happening, Gage has yanked at one of my hands, and I ball it into a fist, thinking that he's going to try and cut it off or something. He is smiling, albeit cruelly, down at me.

"This ring…Peacekeepers wear these, or used to."

"_Very good_." I patronize him, managing to keep from trying anything too drastic in the moment.

Gage drops my hand and sneers at me. "How'd you get that anyway, midget? Steal it off someone?"

"No you jackass, it's mine." I would lay into him further, except that I am feeling exceptionally weak. I am thankful when the brute from One seems to leave me there, like injured prey, and rejoins Jessamine and Wren. The only logical reason for him not killing me right then and there, is that he's so convinced of the upper hand. I must say, things aren't looking too good for me—for any of us.

My brain is horribly sluggish, like I'm caught in quicksand, but I am trying to inch my grip back and feel for the knife that was still on my person. My eyes meet Wren's, and I hope she's watching me. Even if my brain is slow, it seems that my body can still react and my hand tightens around the handle of my long knife. All I need is the right timing, and maybe I can bury it right in the back of Gage's neck.

"You make one more move, and you're dead." Sparks up a new voice from behind me. From the corner of my eye I see the girl from Seven with an arrow nocked on her bow, drawn back maybe twenty feet from me. I almost expect that arrow to go flying into my head, but though I feel my throat closing off, I'm still alive. "Take your hand off that knife, or I kill you right now." Sia's voice rings through the air at me, crisp and clear.

I am too weak to run. I don't know what hit me, but the hulking size of Gage's body seems a likely culprit. We're all going to die. The muscles in my fingers twitching, I ease my hand back from my long knife. As soon as I do, I regret it. I should've fucking went for it. An arrow in the head is better than whatever these assholes have in mind, I'm sure of that. Amazing even in the moment, how sleepy I feel all of a sudden, even if I am acutely aware of the goings on around me.

"We're going to have fun with you, sweetie." Jessamine promises Wren as she sweeps one of the braids that had hung down over her collarbone to the back.

"Should've fucking agreed to come with us. We're gonna kill you _slowly_." Gage is telling Wren, before he winds up and spits right into her face.

"You fucking asshole!" Noah screams and thrashes, eyes burning for Gage. "What're you waiting for, you fucking assholes! I don't have time for your God damn speeches! What, volunteering to die in these sick games makes you think you're big! All it proves is just how fucking stupid you are!" He struggles against Imurus, red-faced and screaming, "Get off me you slimy little rat!"

I see the blade rush to snap into his chest, right over his heart. The strikes are lighting quick but I can see them even through the light rain. One, two, three, four, the succession frighteningly quick. Imurus is smirking at me as he yanks the knife from Noah's torso, an explosion of blood spurting out as Noah twists and smashes to the ground like a puppet on strings.

Wren's scream is something from a nightmare as she bellows out a sobbing cry. This sound send shivers down my spine, but while surely there is other noises, I hear nothing but her scream. Silence pounds through my ears, so much so that it is loud. It's as though I've been looking through Noah, but now I focus directly on him.

His form is crumpled and odd, his eyes look over my shoulder, his lips slightly apart as he is face down in the wet grass. A few beats of my own heart race until I hear the cannon blast. Shock leaves me empty, but rage implodes on me filling me up from the tips of my toes all the way up. It claws and rips open my stomach and bubbles up my throat like vomit. I hear myself breathe and remind myself of the blue and white parts of a flame. I may look serene, cool even, but I feel my innards blistering.

"You're next." Sia says. It takes a full couple of seconds for my eyes to peel away from the sight of Noah's body crashing to the ground to realize her words are for me. She does not seem to take such delight in it as the others, but that lovely girl had thrown in her lot with these sadists long ago. I see her brown eyes blink a few times, then a jerking of her head, and a whoosh of air tear past me.

Something crashes into Gage, and Jessamine turns just as a ping knocks the knife from her hands. I don't bother to see what else is happening. Like kicking in a door, everything rushes and screams forward at once.

I fling my knife at Sia, and see it crash off the bow as she spins it, but I don't have time to retrieve it. I roll to my feet, blood spinning in my head, lungs feeling like they are about to burst, but I score off my one foot and use my forward momentum to charge forward. I hear Jessamine screech, I hear Gage and someone else yelling, and Wren has dashed up from her position as I veer past her. Everything and everyone is buzzing around like bees around a nest, but I see Imurus' little eyes connect with me and I see the flash of fear.

I clench and then spring off the ground, bounding at him with full release of my muscles like a tiger. This he seemed not to expect, as I slam ferociously into him and send us both spinning and rolling to the ground. The chaos that has erupted behind me all fades away.

His knife is nowhere to be found as I wrestle with the District Four tribute a good three or four inches my senior. People in Four are supposed to be attractive, but apparently his parents didn't get the message. His beady blue eyes are full of terror and hatred at the same time, his mouth wide and all but hissing. He is stringy and lithe like an overworked spider, but despite my more compact physique, he is surprisingly strong.

Imurus gains the upper hand, and now has me pinned on the ground and it is all I can do to fight him off. If I were not already injured this might've gone another way, but as I look into those glaring blue eyes of his, it is clear he wants to kill me just as bad as I do him. He shifts one of his knees up and slams it into my lungs. I heave and grapple with him, but it's given me the opportunity to slam my hand around his throat and start throwing all the pressure I have behind it.

Choking and spluttering he releases me, and I seize the opportunity to buck him off me. It isn't until I've thrown all the weight of my body into Imurus and we go splashing back to the ground that I realize I don't even have a weapon. Pain doesn't effect me right now, I have become an instrument of revenge. My hands are on him and I see his eyes wide as I slam his head repeatedly against the ground. I see a smear of blood fly and streak across from under his nose, but I am vicious and unrelenting.

Unexpectedly I am knocked off of my victim, my already-sore side absolutely springing anew in waves of agony. Landing on my side, I see just a blur of blonde hair so I instantly think: Jessamine. My brain now scoops up new pockets of information, like two guys shouting at each other, or a girl screaming. Rain still falling, I barely perceive the light-haired thing go blurring from my vision.

_Wham!_ I catch Imurus as he comes barreling into me, blood dripping freely from his nose as he growls and hisses at me, that knife of his caught in one fist. I strain against him to keep it from being buried into me. In the midst of my rage-fueled adrenaline party, I can't help but wonder why none of these Careers go down easy. Rat-boy here was turning out to be more of a threat than even Zayne, giant though she may have been. I need more curry powder.

I hear Wren scream, then I hear her shout and some other girl is yelling. I have to excuse myself from paying all of that much attention, as Imurus is hell-bent on making a pin cushion of my face.

He isn't shouting at me, or spouting cruel epithets like Jessamine or Gage might, but he is grinning sadistically. They might be mean…I thought he was a class clown, but maybe he was just a lunatic. As I see him smiling in his off-handed way as he brings the knife ever-nearer to me, I can't help but recall thinking how easy I thought it would've been for me to beat him in a grappling match. Not so. Eerie how such a casual thought was came true before the games even started. Now my life was depending upon me being able to make good on my assumption.

Blood from his nose splashes down onto my face. I gain the upper hand, and shove with every ounce of my strength against Imurus. I manage to get the ugly guy from Four off of me, but I am seriously disoriented and that doesn't help matters much. I hear him start laughing at me, and with all the colors of the Arena blurring together I'm fortunate he didn't grab his knife and fling it in my face. It's more of a cackle, than a laugh really…a sound generally reserved for villains in movies made eons ago.

I know this because Dyne knows more than her fair share about movies and belongs to an underground group of cinema-lovers who try and show non-sanctioned movies amongst themselves from time to time. It's too much of a risk to go public with it, but I've known for years.

I'd prefer Gage yelling at me, or Jessamine trying to demean me, over the bizarre facial expressions and surprising quiet coming from the tribute from District Four. His body movements are fluid and precise, though at the same time they are erratic. He reminds me of some demented oil painting come to life or something; he's definitely not a creature of this world.

Amidst my fury, I must be making a disgusted face as Imurus is howling at me as though he were possessed or something. _Seriously, what the fuck you idiot!_ I take the lapse in his concentration to see what's unfolding around us. Despite the rain, Jessamine seems locked in a fierce battle with…someone, who the hell is it! Oh shit. I have to throw my legs out and get a low stance, as Imurus is charging me, now. I am going to kill him. It isn't even a question in my mind—I'll rip his face off if necessary.

He bashes into me, but I do my best to throw him away, and he falls away in mid-air as I hunker even lower to the ground. This crazy asshole might have height and range on me, but I am a more solid target, and a smaller one. I hear screeches that don't quite sound human, but I do not have time to investigate. Imurus has nabbed his knife and he holds it in an odd way, giving me a look that under any other circumstances I'd call come-hither.

Then he brings the blade toward his own mouth, and I see his pink tongue lick the flat of it, covered in Noah's blood, first one side then the other. I am transfixed as he then lowers the knife, smacking his lips salaciously.

Not only am I deeply creeped the fuck out, I am livid that he would trivialize the death of my closest ally and shit all over it by doing something so horribly disgusting. I see his eyebrows raise, tickled by my reaction.

Enraged like I've almost never been, I jar forward, planting my foot right at him, though he deflects, and I barely manage not to have my calf sliced open from ankle to knee.

He is grinning at me, and I swear he almost bats his eyelashes before he lets loose a howl. It is lands somewhere between laughter and yelling, and I feel my own eyes widen as I no longer know what the hell is happening. I don't even feel my body anymore, my hatred is so deep.

I steel myself and lock eyes with the madman a few feet away. Imurus actually tosses his knife from one hand to the other. I can't stand that shit, so as I dash ahead I unclip my bandolier and swing it in a wild arc as a substitute weapon. It catches off his knife and prevents me from having a punctured lung, so I kick at his legs but he evades. I need a damn weapon…_anything_ would do. I drop the bandolier so I am holding it from the strap; it isn't much but at least it's something.

This bastard looks at my bandolier and seems to laugh with his eyes. This sick piece of shit kills Noah and then has the audacity to taste hid blood! _Die, fucker._ These words in my head spur me to action and I backpedal, closer to a bush. He chases after me and I coil up, looking ready to absorb his blow. Instead I toss my bandolier right at his face and he turns his head, batting at the snake-like projectile and it gives me the time I need. I run away from Imurus, scanning the landscape for something—anything. Something is gleaming in the rain about 20 feet away, but it is practically trampled by Knox Halverting as he entraps Gage's sword in the bend of both of his hatchets, and shoves him back.

It's Knox alright. I am stunned by this discovery and I waste time gawking at the spectacle of the two strongest remaining tributes in the Arena go at each other like a couple of tigers. I hear Wren cry out, and I instinctively jerk my head to the source of the loud noise, and in doing so stupidly save my own life. Something had whispered past my face and with Imurus now copying my own move and rushes into me, I realize it was his knife. That's the second time I was almost impaled through the face by a tribute's weapon. He slams into my already battered form but I don't go flying like last time. I collapse and my brain and lungs struggle to keep up. Someone's dead, Knox is fighting Gage. Imurus is on top of me.

I don't realize what he is still holding until he's all but got it wrapped around my neck. My own bandolier! I jar my fingers up toward his eyes, and try to bury my foot in his crotch, but the rat-faced kid managed to only take a glancing blow off his thigh. He's let loose the bandolier however, and I manage to land a punch against his jaw. My hand is throbbing like a bitch, but Imurus looks dazed. There has to be weapons littered everywhere, but I can't find one—nor do I have time. It's amazing my body even still works after all the abuse it's taken, but now I know I'm going to have to kill him with my bare hands.

Maybe not, I swear I could've seen a blade shining on the ground, maybe ten paces off. It looks a hell of a lot like one of Zayne's long knives. I don't have time to chase it down, I have to act right now.

I try to leap on him, but he kicks me away, laughing his fool head off. I've seized the bandolier, though it's a piss poor weapon, really and turn to face him. My whole head aches, I am gritting my teeth so damned hard. He sounds absolutely demonic, though as I shake off the wobbly feeling for about the fifth time in as many minutes, I realize not all of that is coming from him.

High pitched screeches start exploding around me like depth charges. Spiraling, winding, tossing and bounding through the air are dozens of little bodies. Leather and fur, I see the rain paint their wings and through this the bats are revealed to me. A couple land on me, needle-like claws sliding in. Not enough by themselves to do much damage, I don't even feel it, but it seems once I've been attacked, more come rolling from the masses and land on me.

Unable to take this newest surprise, I start screaming, grabbing their wriggly little bodies and start tossing and flinging the bats, each which couldn't be larger than roughly the size of a CD, at least without their wings outstretched. I'm bleeding and I stomp on some of their bodies below, which prove to be clumsy on the ground. Through the rain and the seeming never-ending supply of bats, I see that Imurus has been all but enveloped in them. The rapid movement of my limbs seem to stall them, but the moment I stop to catch my breath and I hear a girl scream, they land on me once more.

I want to kill Imurus so badly, I let some of these bats land on me, just so I can tell where the hell he is. There is a wall of moving, flapping bodies all around me. My depth perception is thrown horribly off.

I stagger away from where I think Imurus was struggling back to his feet, and I can't help but cover my face as the bats swarm and writhe through the air, scratching and pinching my exposed skin, chirping and squealing all the while. Now I can feel them. I flatten more of the winged things, feeling their brittle bones crunch under my tennis shoes as I catch a glimpse of Knox screaming and waving in the air—no, toward _me_? _At_ me, perhaps!

A shape emerges from my peripheral vision and I can see by the color of the shirt, it is Imurus. He staggers away from me, brown, black, bluish bodies of winged mammals have created a living, thirsty shroud over him. I take a half-step toward the distorted shape of my enemy who seems to be picking his way through the bats, but more slide in to take their place. I almost want to vomit at the sight, though it certainly isn't due to guilt.

Bats don't do this. They aren't like the tiger killing Haw for food. These are _monsters_, not animals.

A shout from someone yanks my attention away from this awful image, and I pull the bat atop my head off and all but crush it's little body in my hand. There is more yelling, but it is drowned out by the throngs of bats. Apart from Imurus, they are _everywhere_. There are literally so many it's not even gross, it's downright obscene.

Somewhere Noah's body is lying, fully exposed and probably getting landed on, defecated on, scratched up…God knows what else, by these bats. This spurs me to snatch one of the things right from the air before me and toss it with purpose to the ground, trampling it in with it's brethren as I shift my trajectory back toward where I think Noah fell. Funny how my mind seems to have all but forgotten about Imurus in this time frame, but as I do so, it isn't as though he comes leaping at me from the colony of bats. I feel their claws grabbing at me, slowly ripping at my flesh. I actually seize a knife from the ground that I think was belonging to that sick motherfucker. I'm still holding my bandolier in the other hand.

It isn't really until I see the blood on my forearms, the backs of my hands as I wrench one of the bats off me, that I really start to realize the danger I am in. _Oh God Noah, I'm sorry_.

Grunting and bashing my way through the fracas of the bats, I need to retreat. My heart his hammering in me, I don't even know how long it's been like that, but I pick a direction and start moving. Bats obscure my vision and it is truly horrific, to have my vision literally fogged out by the moving, swarming bodies of bats. Hundreds…no hundreds upon hundreds, thousands maybe. One is twisting it's way under my shirt and succeeds, I feel its little claws shimmying down my spine and this makes me scream.

The cannon fires off and this only adds to my tension. I have no idea where I am heading, but I absolutely have to be free, even at the cost of everything else. Knox was back there, as was Wren…I can't be concerned with them now. If one more thing happens, I feel like my heart might burst from it's chest.

The knife in my hand is literally useless, same as the bandolier but I slice and whip at the bats, tasting blood and realize that it might just be that which has them so attracted to me. Now I am running, it's amazing I'm not tripping as I do so. I cajole into a bush, but quickly shimmy back to my feet and keep moving. I fling a bat that had made it's home in the crook of my arm to the ground and I run for my life.

My chest feels like it is imploding on itself, as my lungs absolutely burn and sting once I almost slam into a tree. Instead I catch myself and take in a deep lungful of air. I have managed to scrape off all of the bats, save one. A majority of them seemed unwilling to follow me as I'd ran off in a random direction. Only now do I recognize that I must've headed southwest—I'm almost within eyesight of the edge of the basin.

Furiously I grab the bat which had been making itself home under my shirt and I see it's jaws snap open reflexively as I start to squeeze. It's wings twist ever so slightly, but certainly do not flap. Thinking of Imurus and Noah, I have literally ripped the thing in half before I can stop myself. Bloody viscera sparkles at me from both ends of what had once been a bat, and I toss it to the soggy ground.

I'm covered in blood myself but few of my multitude of injuries actually hurt. Even when the bats were scratching and biting at me, it's more like I felt their wings on me, not their mouths. When I close my eyes I picture Imurus licking Noah's blood off his knife. My brain twists his body and disfigures it into a living shroud of bats. He absorbs them into himself and turns into some spindly-armed creature with blood red eyes and big pink ears—ugh!

I've fallen to the ground. My head spins and churns, my body is so weak and battered. I roll onto my hands and start dry heaving, but why can't I just throw up? Stuff dripping from my nose and eyes, my whole face feeling like one big hole, I picture Noah clattering to the ground so uselessly once again. Oh God I want to puke. Please—why can't I just puke away all these images in my head?

The knife in my hands…it belongs to…it's got Noah's blood on it. I drop it and watch it spin on it's handle, before it falls, point away from me. That's when I hear Noah's confession about his fear of the stuff, and I start to cry. No where in my mind, can I focus on anything but what has transpired. It doesn't take long before I am almost sobbing. Why…I don't even quite know. It's Noah, it's Imurus, its everything. I pinch my eyes shut and thinking of Mom and Dad, it just makes the tears flow all the more readily. Why do I have to do this? _Do_ I have to do this? Amidst my tears I spy that evil knife, laying so innocently in the short grass.

The rain has stopped. _Of course it fucking has_, I snarl. Now the rain stops, the lightning is long gone…and everything is going to look and act like a jungle might. I know this jungle is anything but normal, however. The fact that parts of it are genuine, makes the artificiality all the more twisted and disgusting. Either way—it's no good. Eyes closed, and I can't stop seeing Noah, Imurus, the bat-monsters, or some horrible mish-mashing of all together. Eyes open, I can see the knife used to kill Noah, and this awful place.

I thought there was a right answer to all of this, but there isn't. I'd been idling by, believing that Noah, Wren, and I were in the 'right'. There is no 'right', in the Arena. I see that now. They call them the Hunger Games. I'd started out hungry, hadn't I? Now I am full. I am so full up, and I can't seem to regurgitate anything up.

The high pitched call of some bird slaps me from my pity party, and I am no longer crying. It doesn't sound like the type that attacked the three of us when we headed for the Cornucopia a few days back. I look around as I hear it once more, except this bird doesn't sound unpleasant at all. Somewhere in the jungle I am just outside of. While I am now at the south tip, near the northern edge, I'd killed Zayne. Everything is starting to look so familiar to me now. Just this knowledge buries itself in me like a tick.

My attempts to throw up continued to be successful only in making my throat raw from coughing and hacking so this too, I must give up. It's a sad day when you can't even make yourself barf properly.

The birds which had just started speaking back and forth with regularity, come to an abrupt stop. My whole head feeling raw, almost like someone had taken an ice cream scoop and dug out all the contents of it, I exhale and look around. I'm utterly exposed here. While I had flirted with the opportunity to give up, it would see my instincts have taken over once again.

Doesn't matter—I'm too late.

Shapes are emerging from the trees. I'm not seeing double, it's just two people. It takes all of my effort to stuff down my feelings, and go grabbing for the knife which had taken Noah's life. As my fingers curl around the handle, it almost leaps out of my hand of it's own accord. I watch my arm, bloody though it may be, shake a bit as I tighten my grasp. They're not going to take me without a fight.

"It's him!"

I drop the knife immediately, as Wren's gasp flows through me and fills me up. Somehow I've hoisted myself all the way onto my feet as the two shapes, one of them belonging to the girl from District Six, make their way steadily toward me. My vision almost goes out on me, and I have to concentrate on not falling over where I stand. Incredible really that my body has endured as much punishment as it already has.

Wren looks a mess, with blood all over her, so it's fortunate that the dye of her shirt is already in the red palette. The dirt, grime and blood on Wren's face makes her blue eyes stand out all the more. She wavers just out of arm's reach and as our eyes meet and I tell she's still in shock. Whether of what she had seen, or what she was looking at right now—Wren was good with words and used them when she could formulate them properly. The look in her eyes tells me that I can't look much better.

"Come on…" Wren reaches out and clasps her hand around mine, tugging me gently in the direction she'd came from. "We can't stay here…" she whispers tensely.

Naturally I follow, squeezing Wren's hand something awful. We are heading back when I spy the shorter person in army green cargo pants and a slate blue t-shirt. Their hair is short. Something else seems to be looming just behind the tree line; I don't see it, but by now I can trust myself enough to sense it's presence.

Weak both in mind and body, the only reason I'm not attacking my lone ally with a hug is that I am too exhausted. Might just knock Wren right over, if I were to try it. I am lucky to be standing and walking, right now.

The person in the khaki green pants comes into better view. They have something on their arm which I first believe is a bat creature. No, it isn't moving. It is some kind of contraption.

I get a squeeze from Wren, and I return it without even acknowledging the act. Now we're upon the stranger.

"Damn. You look like _shit_, Herod." Farah Gilderling articulates, with all of the bluntness of an atomic bomb.


	15. Talk That Talk

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><p>None of us look our best, that much is certain.<p>

Myself, Wren, Farah, and Knox…none of us look like we'd be able to stand up to much of anything, let alone another round with the Careers and more creatures. Knox has taken us back to the Cornucopia. I cannot even try to disagree with this, I am simply too warn down—I don't have it in me to be otherwise right now.

We don't quite make it to the Cornucopia, but we're within it's line of sight before none of us can go any further. Everyone is cut up from the bats, every last one of us. Each of us will bear scars from the look of it. Neither Farah nor Knox had faired all that well in this last...battle? I suppose that's an appropriate word. Wars consist of many battles. Wren hadn't escaped unscathed either, though I am thoroughly impressed by just how able she does look. I've fought alongside her for days now—I know she is no solider.

I am floored by the number of weapons the four of us have at our disposal. Wren seemed to have picked up one of Zayne's—_my_ long knives, but I can't go taking inventory right now. It's such a miracle I am even still standing after all of this shit.

Noah died…Noah the good guy, and I'm left here with what's left of our alliance. The feeling is dreamlike, and not even in a good way. I've found my ally from District Eight, and the leader of this entire movement to take out the Careers. I ought to be thankful, and I suppose I am, but I just can't get a clear reading on any of my emotions right now.

Knox Halverting has been doing the lion's share of talking, which seemed to be alright by the rest of us. His voice is calm and reassuring. To realize that this guy volunteered so that his cousin didn't have to enter the Games, well, I felt a little guilty just being near him. I couldn't help but marvel at Knox's lack of wounds. There seemed to be a gash along his mid-section but I couldn't much focus on it as Wren diligently went about dressing his cut; this had left Farah and I time alone. We can play lookout together.

"You're alright." I say, not really disbelievingly, but more in a way that I can cling to, like it were religion.

"Yeah, I am." Farah replies with tenderness, her eyes pinching together ever so slightly. I can tell she sees all of the hurt not just on me, but inside of me. This makes me feel exposed, but I suppose since it's Farah I need to try and make an exception.

"Thought that was a bat on your arm, at first…" I nod to the metal and rubber contraption on her left wrist and forearm. "How'd you manage _that?_" Her slingshot was of a reinforced construct, looking heavy enough to really fling something on its elastic tubing to where it might do some damage. I know that Farah was good with a slingshot, she'd told me as much.

"At the bloodbath." She tells me, though she turns away from me in a half-assed attempt to man her post. We are supposed to be on the lookout for Careers, after all. "When I didn't see you there, I knew you were alright. I shouldn't have gone, but I panicked, so I just ran where everyone else was headed. Stupid."

"_Not_ stupid." I clarify, "You're still alive and you have your weapon of choice on your arm."

Farah does smile at me. "I got that girl from One for you."

At first I don't understand what she means. Then I recall the cannon…good so that bitch is dead. "What did you hit her in the neck with a sharp rock or something?"

"What? No…_no_," she says a bit more dejectedly, "I mean she was coming for you and I knocked the knife out of her hands. She got it again though. She's a real…" Farah swears without verbalizing it, her eyes flared. I cannot believe she has censored herself, so whatever word she might've had in store must have been extra crass. "Fights dirty, kicked me when I was down, I would've died if it weren't for the bats. Even if she's a hard ass Career, once she saw the bats she started screaming like a little bitch."

A smile almost comes to me. Shocking, for about an hour ago I was feeling more hopeless than I ever had before in my life, just-about. It's good to hear Farah's loose tongue, but it is equally funny that she would expect a Career not to fight dirty? Jessamine scored a 9 from the Gamemakers, I remember it clearly. Yeah she was beautiful, but she was deadly too. I can't add much to what Farah is saying. It _is _shocking that she survived to tell about it. I can't process much about the bats, though. I picture them feeding on Noah's corpse. Their little mouths and claws all over him.

"Whoa you look pale. Have some of your water." Farah encourages, tilting her head.

This is an offer that I definitely take her up on, and I chug a good portion of my water. I probably need to try and conserve it. Knowing the jerks I am sure are in charge of the weather, they'll probably unleash a drought on us just to punish me.

Wren seems to have finished her ministrations on the guy from Nine, of which I am happy. I don't want her touching him if I can help it.

No, wait. It's completely idiotic to think she'd have any feelings for him. What could I possibly be basing it on? Maybe how he looks, but honestly he isn't any better looking than me; he might be even more plain in the face. I realize I am trying to keep my thoughts busy—anything to keep them off of Noah, Imurus, and the bats.

Knox is looking tall and athletic even as he's sitting down. He's got a few freckles more than last I remembered, and his hair seems shorter. Still he is the epitome of what a tribute might look like, excluding Careers that is, and he's got the personality and even the voice to engender trust. "We need to sort through the weapons we've got. You alright Herod? We've got to stay as healthy as we can if we're going to win this. We're so close, guys."

"Yeah." I say, though I don't really appreciate his candor at the moment. It isn't _his_ heart that got skewered by a stringy lunatic, and then had his blood lapped up. Knox is what Dad might call 'a hell of a guy'. I don't care right now. I would exchange his life for Noah's so fast it would make everyone's head spin. As I listen to him reinforce how we've got the numbers on the Careers, I cannot help but thinking he was a complete idiot to volunteer for this. It might make you a hero, but right now, it just makes him unbelievably foolish.

I see Wren watching me so I give her a smile, though when she doesn't return it I know I can give up the act. Really I wonder what'll happen now? Who is my closest ally? Wren or Farah? In some ways, it surprises me that they're here. This is based solely on their overall lack of physicality, at least when compared to the rest of us. I would rank Sia and myself just above them, if I'm being honest. Based on what I'd seen in the Training Center, Sia was comparable to myself. We weren't slugs, but we weren't the elite. Knox, Gage, Imurus, Jessamine; they are on another level entirely.

In other ways, it makes perfect sense that these ladies would be part of the final seven…or is it six? I don't know who is dead from the Careers, and as the girls and Knox try and decide just where the Careers might be at the moment, I don't interrupt.

I've made comparisons between Farah and Wren before, I guess I can't help myself. They are alike, when you take first glance at their personalities. Actually, I don't know Farah all that well, do I? I think I may have the answer as to who might be my closer ally. It scares me. It probably shouldn't, but it does just the same. What would Noah think? Worse yet…should I even bother with what Noah would think, right now? Painful as it is, answer's no. I need to start listening to what my living allies have to say.

"Speaking of that," Wren was saying to Knox, "We're not very far, really. Besides isn't the Cornucopia the first place they might start looking? They are sure to check it sooner or later."

"Let them." Knox says, his voice unwavering. "How long do you want this to last, Wren?"

She says, "As long as possible." This answer seemed to have stunned Knox into silence, so she adds, "There are bats, and tigers, and monkeys, and whatever else in here. The longer we stay away from the Careers, the more chances there are that something else will kill them." Leave to Wren Astoris to come up with the most intelligent, reasonable, level headed option and you will never fall short.

I watch as Knox watches Wren. His eyes are a light brown color and convey a lot of warmth. Same goes for his chestnut-colored hair, actually. Though it seems like such a distant memory, I remember the girls in the City Circle screaming for me. Surely they were even more excited about Knox. Taller than me, bigger muscles, and he was already eighteen. Of course there was the added bonus of him being self-sacrificing and saving his cousin from doom. It seems that something about the four of us together makes it all too easy for me to compare myself to Knox, and pit the girls against one another.

"She's right." Farah speaks up. "We've got one up on them, yeah, but that isn't really going to matter. We were fucking lucky as hell to escape them. And that's only because Knox and I surprised 'em."

"But they are injured too," Knox is saying, looking at me. "They're not going to want to fight us until they have time to heal their wounds."

"Then maybe we should go looking for them right now, before they have time to." I say. I don't mean it, but I feel like I have to say something.

"What're you _stupid_!" Wren glares at me, pretty features entirely consumed with shock. "And besides, how do we even know we're one up on them? I heard a cannon when I found you in the trees, Farah. I know it wasn't for Noah," her voice almost breaks, but she sets her jaw and continues. "But who _was_ it for? We don't even know who we're facing right now. If we're going to take them out, we have to have a plan."

While Knox seems to be ruminating on all of this, I keep quiet and wonder the same question myself. Imurus was literally covered in those bats. I didn't get a very good look at Sia, or either tribute from One. If I had to bet, my money would be on it being Imurus that died. No, I don't want him dead. I want to kill that piece of shit myself. I want to see him twist, and scream, and…

"Don't you agree, Herod?" Farah was saying.

"Oh, yeah." I lie. Even after all that's happened to me, I still can't manage to pay attention when I ought to. This might be the most important conversation I'd been apart of all these Hunger Games, and I'm in and out. I haven't the slightest idea what I've just agreed to.

Apparently Knox had spent a good deal of his time in and around the flooded forest. I can't imagine that, but given his physical acumen, I suppose it's plausible. He also seems to know that north of here there is a big thick jungle and a bit east of that, are some dilapidated old stone buildings. He saw Lurie running but didn't have time to catch up.

Farah explains that she'd been in the west part of the Arena for most of the games. She'd met up with Haw, but they got separated when he got chased after by a rhinoceros. I try to remember just what the hell that even is. It doesn't matter. What does, is the fact that she might've been accessible long before this. It makes me wonder just how close she was. Did she see our fire, the first night Noah and I found Wren? What about when we'd happened upon the tiger? In both cases the answer is almost assuredly no, but it's an unsettling feeling to wonder. The places both she and Knox are talking about were adjacent to areas I myself was in. I'd never happened upon either. Maybe I am not so lucky, after all.

Between Wren and myself, we canvas the rest of the arena known to us; we certainly know about the south portions. The entire thing seems to be rather well mapped out, at least in my mind and in Knox's. Can't say about the girls—women can be tricky like that. The only real unknown was the northeast, and what might lie in that valley that Noah had steered us away from. I'd agreed, and now he was dead. Consensus was that we didn't want to go anywhere near that highest place, though. Farah was sure that's where the bats had come from.

What the heck was left? We were already sitting more or less within eyeshot of the Cornucopia. Wren had razzed the idea, but I might see some of the value in it. The Careers had already taken every last damn thing they wanted from it. They would not come back, unless they thought we were there. Reminds me, I still have my little flashlight in my pocket. I'd found it in the Cornucopia. Now I could see in there. The idea excites me a little, but I feel so tired a moment later, it seems to be more of a passing fancy.

I'm glad that of the four of us, it seems I've got the smallest mouth. This suits me just fine, I really don't want to be arguing, or drawn into any serious debates. If were still the 'old me', I probably needed to try and escape from them at my earliest convenience. Might seem dumb on the surface, because then I'd have no allies, but if I was able to stay the hell out of everyone's way, surely some of this group and the Careers, would start killing each other.

No, I am in this coalition now, to the end. I know I can trust Wren with my life and more. I believe I can trust Farah in the same capacity, and I am lucky enough with Knox, too. He's not only the best of us physically, he seems to be a man of integrity as well.

Noah had integrity, and look what happened to him. I still picture him there, looking at me behind Imurus' elbow. If I had known he was going to be killed…just like that, I would've done something, said something. People in Panem might think Noah got killed because he couldn't keep his mouth shut, but I wasn't buying that. Imurus was a twisted bastard—_is_ a twisted bastard, far as I know he might still be alive. My instinct told me that Imurus had every intention of killing Noah soon enough, whether he called him a slimy rat or not. It _was_ a justified description, regardless. Then I recall Wren's scream, and my entire body has to shake off a shiver.

The girls and Knox are still discussing our situation, but I keep tuning out. I can't seem to help it. Earlier when I had let my hand off that knife, I might've saved my life right then. Sia had been dead-serious with that bow, I know that much for sure. As to why she'd not just killed me outright, is a mystery. I could tell she was not as nasty of a bitch as Jessamine, but she was stupid not to shoot me right then and there. Was she under orders? Jessamine and Gage had teased Wren about killing her slowly. I vaguely recall Gage saying something about me. No, I don't think it has anything to do with any of that. It boils down to the reason I am still alive, and Noah is not. Beyond all reason, I have a weasel's luck in this Arena.

Now I hear them discuss once again which of the Careers might be dead. One of them was dead for sure, it was simple mathematics. "It wasn't Gage. He was running." Knox says. I don't think anyone could argue with that. I've met Gage twice now in the Arena, and had yet to really fight him. Weird how things like that happen. Not that I wanted to—he was a fierce competitor and I am sure was the odds on favorite to win.

"Lost track of Sia," Wren admits, "the bats were coming so hard." I can tell she's a bit traumatized by the entire situation as well.

"Might be the guy from Four. Bats were all over him." I say, shrugging. If he's dead, I suppose I can make peace with it, because it's a fitting end a creep like that get sucked dry by a bunch of bats. This thought spurs my mind to Noah, and his admission of being hemophobic. This odd connection between Noah's fear of blood, Imurus licking his knife, all those bats…I turn and hack several times. Oh please let me throw up, why can't I? Now my throat is raw and painful, and my stomach is still very unsettled.

Farah gives my back a slap, then she greets me with a look of compassion. Wren's expression probably mirrors something closer to my own—she looks like a survivor of a train wreck.

"I don't think it was the girl from One." Farah seems to be almost certain.

I wouldn't argue, Jessamine, as I now know her, was a Career just like Gage. If one of them got killed, then we might all have a real shot of winning. My gut tells me that isn't the case, however.

"Fine," Knox says clearing his throat. "Sia or Imurus, it doesn't matter. We'll take them all out."

While I still wish I could vomit properly, Knox's statement is faulty. If we knew for a fact which of them was alive, it would be a definite advantage. Sia had a bow and arrow, but if she was robbed of it, then I hope she's alive. She'll be a lot easier to contend with than Imurus. If she's _got_ the bow however, then it is a toss up. Sia with her bow, or Imurus as is, would play a nice consort to Gage and Jessamine. Even all four of us might not stack up unless we had the element of surprise completely on our side. I believe all of my allies thoughts are with my own as we are quiet for a while.

Although she may not need to, Wren explains our medical situation. While none of us are grievously injured, each of us has a wound or two that is keeping us from being at our best. Knox was not only in the best shape of all of us to begin with, he had the least amount of injuries. He's probably going to win. I do not know why this disheartens me so much. It isn't because in order for that to happen it would mean that I'd be dead. It would be great for District Nine, and Panem…to have a volunteer come out on the other side and kill the Careers.

I'm not thinking clearly. Knox has the best shot—of _us_. That was true on day one, and it seems little has changed. But when I look at the big picture, I know Gage or Jessamine is going to win. I'd think Gage would have the advantage. I've seen him a couple of times now and he's bigger, faster, and stronger than Jessamine. This is not a movie or a book. The strong do conquer the weak 9 times out of 10. He had a protective vest, atop everything else. District One had a victor not long ago at all, but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen again.

Knox's plan for the alliance was sound, but it wasn't implemented the best it possibly could have been. If all of us had known exactly what we were going to do from the jump, we might've been able to overtake the Careers. At the very least all of us against the Careers on day one would have been a fairer fight than it was turning out to be.

Funny how I omit the truth, in here. I ran my ass off, as soon as the 60 seconds were done and the first cannon shot off. I'd listened to Roman. I ran for my life, and I was still alive on day five. I'll never know what could have been, but I know from Wren and Noah, and now apparently Farah and Knox…even if I'd gone to the Cornucopia, I would've likely died, or been split off from my allies. It is a real sinking feeling when you consider the possibility that not much I could've done, would have netted me a position any better or worse than the one I'm sitting in right now.

Knox looks at me a bit quizzically, and I realize I must have that 'face' that Noah always referred to. He's no longer here to warn me of such things. "You alright with that?" He must have sensed my slight confusion so he spells it out for me. "We rest a good majority of the day, and then go looking for the Careers at night."

He certainly was gung ho, I'll give him that. "All except the looking for the Careers part." I say.

Wren smiles and nods. "See? They are better at this than us. I'm sorry," she deflects Knox's gaze and continues, "but they _are_. They're probably recovering right now too. Which means they will look for us during nighttime. I have no problem moving at night, but I think if we come across them…"

Farah cleared her throat, but even under Knox's gaze she didn't contradict the point Wren had made. I was keeping quiet too.

"Hell Wren," Knox shouts, "there's only seven of us left! Us, and them. They aren't going to break off and neither are we. It's war. I don't care if they are Careers, if Sia's still alive, she isn't even on of them! She's just a sheep in wolf's clothing right now. There are four of us, only three of them. Now isn't the time to go thinking defensively."

I had to admit, though my thoughts kept flip-flopping and I wasn't half as present in the conversation as I ought to be, there was a veracity in his words.

"Like in Chess…" Wren says slowly, blue eyes slipping to me before rounding past Farah and back to Knox.

Farah chuckles, "Girl, none of us play Chess in Eight. I just know it's a game with a checkerboard."

Wren smiles though I can tell she feels self-conscious about it. Brainy types like her sometimes forget certain things. The children of Six get a far better education than those in Eight or Nine.

"Well, whatever you want to call it!" Knox says his eyes burning with feeling. "There is no where left to hide. If we keep running away from them, we might fall into something worse than the Careers. We have to take the fight to them."

"But then what?" Farah states and I can see by the look on Knox's face, it's like a kick in his gut. "I'm not trying to be otherwise." She knows that a good majority of the time, she damn well is. "Let's say we miraculously kill all three of them. Fine, then it's just the four of us."

It is like she's stolen all the air from our lungs, because nobody makes a peep.

Farah says, "If you were smart Knox, or Herod," she shakes her head, "you'd kill everyone else while they were readily available. I hate to say it Knox,"

A shadow crosses the guy from Nine's face, as if demanding that she not finish her statement. In true Farah fashion, she does anyway.

"But I think whatever good your alliance was going to do, it's already done it. Look at us, we all agreed not to kill each other until the Careers are gone. That's fine, if I can't win, I _damn sure_ hope one of you will. But if we go hunting for the Careers, then it's down to just fucking _us_. One, two," she points a finger at each of us in turn, "three, four. So what is going to happen then, Knox?"

Only the far-off buzz of cicadas and the warble of some bird answer in response. I see our 'fearless leader' has been stumped. He is looking down, and Farah follows suit. Wren looks to me, so I give her the best smile I can manage. It's piss poor really, but I don't want her to completely fall apart like she did with the tiger. I myself was crying like a baby just a little bit ago. Better to pretend that I was strong, than to reveal once again just how weak I actually was.

I did find myself a bit put off by Farah's straightforward question. Just like it had been with Noah, Farah was _right_ of course, but there are some things that you simply can't say in the Hunger Games. Noah, Farah, Etcher, none of them knew when to keep their mouths shut. Regularly I enjoy that about a person, because I am more subtle in most situations. This wasn't the time and place for it, however.

"Let's just try and take it easy for now. Keep an eye out for anything." Knox finally says, though I can tell that he was caught completely off guard by Farah's comment, and maybe a little insulted. I think of Wren and I flirting and talking, and it only makes sense that even if Farah and Knox haven't been together as long as Wren and I, something might have transpired between them.

As quiet as it is getting, I wish they'd start talking. I really do not want to be at one with my thoughts right now. Then again, since when did anything that happened so far in this Arena, really and truly go the way I wanted it? I've gotten lucky, sure. But that is not quite the same thing, is it.

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><p>Deep within the Cornucopia, I was a little disappointed with just what we'd found. Five days ago, some of this fruit would have been fine, though now it was bruising, mealy-looking, and some were split open and crawling with insects. I had been expecting to find something truly amazing, a gun, a bunch of guns…<em>something <em>terrific. Seems that the Careers were thorough on their first visit. I was extremely lucky to have gotten the flashlight at all. The only thing we end up salvaging from the Cornucopia is some burlap, which Knox is sure once dried, will make for excellent kindling.

Having cut apart the two burlap sacks we found, I agreed with his thought, except since when has this Arena decided to be dry for longer than about a three or four hour period? Whatever, I'm not carrying it, so I don't much care. We'd assigned the weapons and I would be remiss if I didn't admit that despite my fortune to get anything at all, I would've hoped for more variety.

By some miracle, I wound up with both of my long knives. These were sufficient killing tools, though I need to spend more time throwing them and getting their weight down. I don't have a projectile, and that might be problematic. Knox is similarly armed, he's got his hatchets. They're heavier than my knives, which might seem like a bad thing…but given that I know Gage and Jessamine both have swords, it's a _good_ thing. Farah kept her slingshot, and inherited the knife that killed Noah. Wren wound up with the knife she'd had from before—it had belonged to Gage—apparently Farah found it back with the bats. Most importantly, Wren now has a sword.

It isn't what I would really call a sword. It's long, it's sharp on both sides, but it looks lightweight and there is no hand guard. Gage or Jessamine can easily chop her hand, and there's nothing to prevent them from doing so. If she isn't careful she could slice her own hand open by moving it too far up the sword.

Wren has told me that she used to take fencing lessons. This weapon she had now though, was thicker and shorter than a rapier. I only know it's called a rapier, because Wren informed me of this at some point. Still she looked decent, moving around fluidly with the thing. We are armed, and armed well. If Sia lived and has her bow however, she can be flanked by Jessamine and Gage with their swords. That trio would be hard to take down.

Farah may be in better shape for running and climbing than Wren, but she doesn't know how to use anything but her slingshot. I guess a kill can be produced with a slingshot, but good fucking luck when the only ones left to pick from, are Careers. Of course, that isn't entirely true, but I squash out such a thought. Wren might know how to fence, but that doesn't mean she can deliver a killing stroke against a Career when the probability of her getting such a chance would mean they'd have the same opportunity. I don't even put myself in the same category as Knox. I saw a bit of him fighting Gage, and he was holding his own far better than…

Noah had defended against Gage while I'd killed Zayne. He had some help from Wren, sure, but who knows how much. I see him crash to the ground in my mind's eye once again. God I hope they took his body before those bats could mangle it. Just the thought makes me want to cry.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Knox says, and settles down on the grass next to me from his great height.

We've decided to stop just south and west of the Cornucopia proper, the deforested zone with it's barren tree trunks well within eyesight. Wren was nervous and I can't give her any reason not to be. Haw had been killed more or less due west of here. Whose to say the tiger won't be prowling again? Noah had seemed to think it wasn't so remarkable as the tiger didn't chase us, but he hadn't been there.

"Just can't believe I found you and Farah. I mean, after all that's happened," I squeeze the image of Noah dying from my thoughts, "it's a miracle."

"This is a big Arena."

"You sound like you've seen others." I challenge him, though not with malice.

Knox cracks a smile, shrugging. "Doesn't it to you? Though there's an edge. Big curtain of energy…don't go trying to escape. Farah and I were testing it…"

My mind makes a connection between Claudius Templesmith warning us tributes about the perimeter.

"So you two have an agreement to the end." He is saying, nodding, "Farah told me."

This stalls me, makes my heart skip a beat though I cannot help but look anywhere but directly at Knox. It was easy to assume, but Farah actually _told_ him! My mind races with just how to answer this question delicately. I can tell by the look on his face that he's not lying, but he might be trying to see where my loyalties lie. The tricky part was, there was no right answer. Did he want to hear me sell out Farah? I tell the truth. Just like I usually do when I ought to do the exact opposite.

"Yeah we made that agreement in the Training Center. Are you telling me you and Daisy didn't do the same?"

"Nah…we did." Knox nods and though I can tell he isn't being condescending, he comes off a little smug. "It's just that she's dead. You guys, and District One, are the only pairs left."

"Are you threatening me?" I state flatly. If I move fast enough, I might be able to slice his throat open before he has time to go reaching for one of his hatchets.

"No. Calm down." He raises his hands out toward me in the universal sign of surrender. "I just wanted to let you know that she told me. Takes a while to get to know her, but she's surprising. Surprised the hell out of me, anyway."

I don't care what Knox is saying, or the fact that he volunteered so his fucking cousin didn't have to come here. Just what is he trying to do? Butter me up? Become my best friend? He's our leader, I would not dispute that, but just like the question of Farah's he didn't answer, we'll have to turn on each other unless the Careers finish us off. How am I supposed to answer, or say _anything_ for that matter? Is this not-so-subtle way of telling me that he and Farah have a relationship similar to mine and Wren's? Knox probably knows her better than I do, by now. I definitely know Wren better than Farah, I can't honestly think otherwise. Knowing a person outside the Arena is nothing like knowing them inside.

"I got Gage pretty good…sounds like Jessamine got a few wounds too. They are going to try and recover, just like us. They ought to be hunting us down, but they're pampered, those two." Knox states, clearly referring to the kids from One. "Do you know if your girl there is any good with a sword?"

I don't know if he's called Wren _my girl_, because he thinks we're together, or just because we are obvious allies. It is tiring always being on the defensive around Knox, he's a good guy, mostly. "Honest? I don't." I tell him as we see Wren some ways away, practicing with her sword, while Farah tries to hone her slingshot skills. "She knows how to fence. Surprising because at times she seems a little uncoordinated."

Knox chuckles and pats my back. I hate that, but I know he's more than likely doing it out of a show of friendship. "Farah is quick on her feet, but she isn't a lot else."

I wonder what the girls would have to say, hearing us point out their flaws. I know Knox and I would both get read the riot act. "Sometimes that's all you have to be." I say plainly. "Listen…" I don't know why I do it, but somewhere I feel like I need to. "Thanks for saving our asses back there. Noah was—well we wouldn't have made it out, if you guys hadn't showed up."

"Wren was all over Sia when she was trying to take me down. Don't sell yourselves short. Thank _you_, for listening to my crazy plan. Some of the stuff I say is stupid, but every now and then I manage to pull something off."

Why does he have to be so irritatingly likable all the time? I was just settling in to thinking Knox Halverting was a pompous jerk. Sounds to me that some of it _is_ actually bluster. He's got more bravado than I ever have, but a lot of that might be a coping mechanism. No one lasts this long in The Hunger Games and doesn't have wounds that you can't cover in ointment and hope they go away.

"Congratulations Herod, you're one of just seven people left. That's an accomplishment, you know?" Knox offers. "I think it's easy to forget that given…you know, the circumstances, but you—me—the girls, _all_ of us, we're going to be remembered as the closers for these Hunger Games. When I saw you in the Training Center, I figured you would do well. Got a sixth sense about you."

In all honesty, that truth had not yet hit me and I allow it to seep in through my pores. Is Knox a mind-reader, on top of all of his abilities? I don't have time to linger though as I chuckle a little bit. "Really, me? I figured you'd do well too…though it is because you're tall and strong, and smart." Why hide the truth, Knox knew it himself.

"You're a realist. I envy realists." He says somewhat mysteriously.

"_Why?_ If anything you should be happy that you can escape always looking at the worst side of things." Knox seemed to be more like Noah in this aspect. People like Wren and I were too consumed with facts to much bother with being positive in a situation like the one we're in. "The fact that you volunteered proves that you aren't a fatalist. Either_ that_, or you're stupider than I think." It may be a little harsh, but I may as well spit the truth while he's talking to me.

He sits in silence, watching me. I believe he's trying to make up his mind about something, about me perhaps, but eventually he does speak.

"Did it because I couldn't imagine him going in here. Max is only 13…he shouldn't have to."

He's referring to his cousin who had been reaped. Noah was only fourteen, Lurie was _twelve_, for fuck's sake. Who said anything about it not being unconscionably awful to send young kids into the Arena? Hell I just turned seventeen myself. Allowances had to be made at some age range, but I was far too young to have to deal with this shit. What sort of rose-tinted world was Knox living in! I want to shout some of my thoughts at him, but watching him, I can't help but be impressed and marginally inspired.

"Lucky kid." I say eventually, nodding at Knox who seems to be lost in his own world at the moment. "I…my sister would've volunteered for me, except she's a girl." I'm pretty sure I haven't even told Farah about that. "She's also too old now, but she would've." This squeezes my guts and coupled with the imaginary pictures I have in my head of Noah's older brother or twin sister, I feel my emotions gaining control.

"Mira, my sister…you've got to take care of her if you win." He says from out of nowhere, but it is with a quietness that fills me up and won't let go. "Our parents are dead. She'll be 16 in the fall. She will say everything's ok, but—"

I have to cut him off, "Stop Knox. Just stop. You'll be able to tell her yourself. There's no way I'm winning this thing over you, come on."

His eyes look watery and he's speaking through his teeth as he begs, "If you do…_promise me_."

I cannot believe he'd volunteer to save his cousin, when his sister needed him more! This thought slips past me very rapidly, and I lock eyes with my competitor/ally. "Alright. I promise."

He holds my gaze, until finally he looks away and running his thumb and forefinger across his eyelids, rids himself of any accumulation there. I keep watching him, sort of unable to do anything else. There's no freaking way I am going to win over Knox, but now he's just made me promise in front of all of Panem that I'll watch out for his sister. All of this seriousness is welling up and I have to lighten the mood. I have to.

"If you win, marry my sister Dyne." I say, and I can imagine the look on her face back home. "She likes you, I know her type. She's smart, pretty, though she can't cook to save her life."

"Sounds like a catch." He says without skipping a beat. He's all but smiling.

"She's got awful taste when it comes to picking boyfriends, though. And if she's back with this loser Parker," I don't even care—I hope the cameras are on me, "you've _got _to kick the shit out of him."

I manage to bring a smile to Knox's face, even if now I'm the one getting a little serious, here. "Alright?" I manage, not wanting to envision my sister actually doing something stupid like marrying that abusive asshole she'd been with when she left home.

"Yeah, I promise. I don't know what the etiquette is on refusing a marriage proposal of a victor, but it can't be viewed very well. The last girlfriend I had never really liked me anyway, so if she comes crawling back, I'll have a great excuse to kick her to the curb with. I'm marrying Dyne, Herod's sister."

Then both of us start laughing. It just happens autonomously. From trying to find any possible reason to hate the guy, and now he's got me laughing. Impossible. I cannot believe Knox is such a good guy. He's got a few flaws, sure, but Roman had called him a saint. He might not have been over exaggerating.

I see Farah and Wren both headed back toward us in the afternoon light.

"What's so funny?" Wren says with a smile, obviously in desperate need of something to laugh about.

"I'm gonna marry his sister, that's all." Knox forks a thumb over at me and manages a few more chuckles.

Wren laughs, it may be a bit forced, but still she laughs. She settles down on the ground and plays with one of her braids, smiling as though she was in on it when she really wasn't.

Farah on the other hand, just raises an eyebrow and shakes her head at us. "You guys are crazy."

"Oh," Knox says disapprovingly, "lighten up, Farah."

"Do we have any of the food left?" she asks Knox.

Clearing his throat, he shakes his head. "We didn't have much left anyway, and I dropped it when we saw the Careers attacking those guys."

I don't quite know why, but I would bet that Knox got some food from parachutes. It just seems to fit. I feel Wren's eyes on mine, so I reach out and give her hand a squeeze.

Not all of us can lead such charmed lives. With people like Knox though, you're probably in good shape if you can manage to just be around them for long enough.

Here's hoping.


	16. Śrī Mor

A slingshot may not be a great weapon for killing people, but Farah had managed to hit a bird and a squirrel. Wren went foraging for edible plants while I volunteered to get water. The real problem with the four of us, is that nobody was all that outdoorsy. Maybe we ought to wear this as a badge of honor, that four 'city kids', more or less, have made it to day five of the Hunger Games with only seven tributes left.

A one in seven shot doesn't sound so bad, does it? I have no idea why I agreed to go off by myself, or Wren for that matter…it was impossibly dumb. Knox and Farah were gathering firewood. We ought to be laying low, but Knox seemed to bring a sense of pride to all of us, even me. If the Careers wanted to come find us, alright. I know it's so stupid to agree to something like that, but it happened just the same. That's one thing people don't say about logic. Even when someone like Wren is presenting you the smart answer, the dumb answer that makes you feel better about yourself is usually the one picked.

I faithfully gather water from my plastic container, which surprisingly enough has held up well. Maybe Roman knew what he was doing when giving me it. As I make my way through the tall spiky grasses, I emerge on a place that is eerily familiar. Haw died not far from here at all. My whole body seizes up and I kneel there by the water's edge, paralyzed. The tiger had made no noise last time, none at all. Then _wham_, it landed on Haw.

As I lower my hand into the water I see how much it's shaking. Still I lap up some of the liquid. It tastes a little brackish and dirty, but it's still water. One thing I have to give the creators of this Arena, it was pretty in it's own way. I myself was fucking sick to death of it, but I can imagine much of Panem enjoying this over last year's more utilitarian one. Last year it was obvious the tributes were in the Arena. Creatures, traps, everything was obvious and a bit artificial looking. This year, if you didn't know better, you might be fooled into thinking you were in a natural habitat.

A calm comes over me. If I'm going to be killed by the tiger, there are worse ways to die. At least I was going to become food for something that, unless I was mistaken, was not created by the Capitol. Seeing a snake cut a swath through the water, headed away from me, I am mesmerized. Look how quickly and neatly it goes. That snake belongs here, it has everything it ought to, to survive. Seeing my own wavy reflection in the water, I am reminded that humans like myself, do not.

Wren meets me before we head back to what Knox has determined will be our new campsite. Her blue eyes seem anything but quiet, I've gotten to like that about her. She's holding a handful of what looks like weeds, a few with flowering tops.

"Are those edible?"

"Of course they're edible. Are they _poisonous_, do you mean." Wren corrects me. She and I already had cried over Noah's death. Knox and Farah were good enough to keep a conversation going while we commiserated, but now when I look at Wren I am not instantly reminded of Noah Lind. I think while I will never make peace with how he died, I have to accept that it happened. I believe Wren feels similarly. _She_ is my person, now. My number one ally.

Farah is at once herself, and yet not the person I remember from the Training Center. She's with Knox now, I've decided. There may not be any real truth to it, but I am going to operate based on this assumption. Now we are a group of four, but really two alliances of two. It would have been awesome to have the final come down to District Eight, but it is easier for me to feel sorry for Wren and Knox, than it is Farah. My thoughts about my district-mate are quite complex.

"No Herod. I'm not trying to poison you."

Our eyes cross, and I believe for the first time Wren might be thinking like I am—like a 'gamer'. We have a whole conversation without opening our mouths. Given her medicinal background, Wren knows some about plants—more than she does about animals. Could we poison Knox and Farah? Or at least Knox?

No, we can't do that. They saved our lives and trusted us. Some might say all the more reason; take advantage of their stupidity. I genuinely like all of the people I am aligned with, I can't think about killing them now. I am noticing how pretty Wren really is, however. The sun is orange and on the horizon. Makes her skin look fantastic. She must notice the way that I am looking at her, because she's looking at me too.

"This is where the tiger came at us, and you're looking at me like _that!_" she looks scandalized.

My mouth pulls up into a smirk, I absolutely can't help myself. "A look like what!"

Shaking her head, she giggles and sucks in one of her cheeks before sighing dramatically. "Shut up, Herod."

"But I didn't _say_ anything! A look like what!" I am playing the innocent role. "I don't say anything, and you tell me to shut up. You realize all of Panem is getting to see what kind of person you really are."

She bites her lip, and smacks at me with the stalks of the weeds she's collected. Maybe it's the sun, but I think she might be blushing. "What kind of person _you_ are! Giving me that look when the tiger is probably ready to strike." There is the slightest hint of apprehension, but I know she's kidding around here.

This is fun. Now I find myself unable to stop smiling as I look at her. "I don't care." I explain with a shrug.

"Oh right, you the one who was such an asshole, telling me that I'm your competition, not my boyfriend."

"I don't care about that either." It's like a release. I haven't felt like this since well before the Reaping. I want to kiss her, I really do. I bet if I tried, she'd let me.

She looks at me, half laughing. "Oh my _God_ we're all going to die. Quit it."

"Quit what?"

"Quit it." She laughs and smacks me with the weeds. "Just, stop it…" she gasps out, looking out of breath and fully flushed as she takes a few steps away from me.

I can't believe it. Beyond all logic, when I ought to be frightened beyond belief, all I want to do is give Wren a kiss. I think she wouldn't mind, and that's what really galls me. Is this what it had been like before, just in the reverse? Our eyes meet and lock down, but she drops her gaze and laughs. This makes me step forward, but she's backed up further still. "Why are you running away?" I grin, the butterflies in my stomach now feel good.

"Because I don't like you like that, Herod Telfin." She expresses my whole name, which makes me really want to chase after her. I know she's lying now, she has to be. I guess I knew before but I didn't want to allow myself to realize it. "What are you, twelve?"

"You're acting like you're ten!" she says through a girlish smile.

"Nah, when I was ten I thought girls had cooties."

"Well, we do." Wren laughs and then starts jaunting away from me.

We are both laughing as I chase her, and it isn't until I realize we're all but back at camp, that we stop. I am a little short of breath, but I don't think it has to do with me physically exerting myself, to be honest. I catch sight of a big pile of firewood, Knox still taking a few swings with a hatchet at an obliterated trunk. Farah looks to us, and shoots me a smile. All of this serves to yank me from my reverie with Wren. Why hadn't I just kissed her? Why didn't she just stand there and let me? Now I am reminded that we need to get a fire started, and everything else. The moment has passed.

As I start helping Knox drag some of the firewood to where we'd like it, I can't quite believe myself. How is it possible that I was so flirtatious and now the mood has completely left me? Wren is too much like me in that way, she is not the type to make moves. If say Farah had been in her place, we'd probably be sucking face even still. Bizarre to think about though. It is not that I don't think Farah is attractive, I do. I just that that if there was ever to be something really between us, it would've transpired before the Games. Wren and I get flirtatious and fun, sure, but that didn't come about instantaneously either. It is wrong to say my feeling for Farah are brotherly? Maybe that's not even appropriate. She's definitely a friend, right? I don't know _what_ I think about her.

In addition to the squirrel and the bird that Farah killed, Knox had gotten something that looked sort of like a weasel. As Wren managed to get the flowers and weeds, and explained that if we cook them in with the meat it'll enhance the flavor, it was left to me to do the skinning. I'd made a few attempts at clawing at the fish in the stream where I'd gotten the water, but they weren't very big to begin with. Not having a lure or a hook didn't help. We'd had some string, but Noah had been holding onto it when he died. Roman never talked to me about inventory management. Constantly being on the move and fighting for your life, I've received things and lost even more along the way.

Knox is from District Nine and from the sound of it, his father knew a great deal about skinning…wouldn't it stand to reason his son did as well? As the girls laugh at a couple of jokes Knox tells, I try to take it in stride. The bird had the least amount of meat, but all that happened was Farah ripped the feathers off and it started cooking in the fire. The squirrel was easy too, if you know what you're doing. I've skinned squirrel before. It's skin came off like removing a sock. What was another matter, was this weasel-thing. I say that because I don't think it _is_ a weasel, but even Wren who seems to know the names of a great number of animals, can't identify it.

Now that my hands have turned red, I allow Knox and Wren to squabble over the best way to put this thing in the fire. I take the skin of the squirrel, and the larger mammal and with my long knife still in hand, head back to the water. Now it is twilight, and I should be scared shitless of wandering off, but I'm not. I chuck the skins as far into the thicket as I can manage, and then set about rinsing off my knife and my hands.

I like this place. I didn't earlier, but I'd just seen an ally get pounced on by a tiger that weighed…well, I have no fucking idea, but it's a ton. The water doesn't make noise, but disappears somewhere into the ground just under me, for it flows northeast, away from the lake. I can't see the lake presently…in fact, I've never gotten a good view of it, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. Farah knows her way around it.

The water is only maybe two feet deep here, but I like it. The buzz of insects have long become the background noise of this Arena. Sure I have bites and irritating stings, but I barely feel them anymore. I should've kissed Wren, forced myself to, because now trying something like that again seems unwise. It hadn't in the moment, but I suppose I have to chalk it up to yet another lost opportunity.

My reflection is dark given the time of day, and wavy as the water here is not exactly still. If I was going to get killed, I want it to be right here. Haw technically died a bit further upstream, where it was a little wider and the grasses surrounding the water were a bit thicker and taller. This is the end of the line. From here the water seeps into the ground. The cicadas song sends a pleasant shiver through me and I inhale. I have no right to be, but for the first time in here, I feel something that might be somewhere in the neighborhood of peaceful.

If I am to die…why can't someone sneak up on me now and be done with it? I don't even care who. Knox, Wren, Farah—I suppose whoever would have the least problem doing it. I wish Cynthia and Noah would've been able to see this with me. Haw deserved to see this little branch of the creek like it is here and now, too. Knox had found a couple of arrows in Lurie's back. Apparently he'd arrived just before some flying machine arrived to carry her off. In the back.

Along the tops of my cheeks, I feel the flash beneath my skin that I'm going to cry. Now I am crying, but I like it. I've already thought too much about Noah, now I get to mourn someone else. Maybe that's sick, but it feels nice, it makes me feel human.

That sweetheart of a girl didn't deserve to get shot in the back. At least, I think as I sniffle a bit, she was doing the right thing: she was running. Knox hadn't volunteered any more information about Lurie, and I hadn't asked. I would prefer to believe that the arrows got her…no one needed to 'finish her off'.

Now Zayne and Arko, of all people, invade my thoughts and cast my tender moment in an uncomfortable light. Why do I ever need to give either one a thought? Arko was a tricky bastard…he was a liar. Zayne was a nasty bitch. I tell myself _I'm glad I killed them_. Do I truly believe that?

God better exist. If he does, that means that people like Noah and the others have somewhere to go that is wonderful. I'm crying again, but even as I feel my nose getting a bit plugged up, I don't try and stop myself. I am too emotional for this. Enobaria—she's the sort you want winning. She's a robot, she has no emotions. Right? My mind makes an unpleasant connection between Enobaria and the protégé of hers whose throat I'd slit. I blow the air out from my cheeks and force myself not to think one minute more about my victims.

Tena told me I was only pessimistic, because I was too smart to have the wool pulled over my eyes. I wish I was stupid as hell, right now. If I was truly idiotic, I wouldn't be able to start dissecting things like Zayne and Enobaria's personalities, or whether or not the sweet tributes of these 63rd Hunger Games go somewhere after this Arena. Why can't I be more like Etcher? Etch wasn't an idiot, but if I am being painfully honest, he wasn't extremely far from it, either. I literally love him like the brother I never had. He wouldn't sit around moping. He'd be cracking jokes by the fire.

At least they're both safe now. Etch and Tena, they'll never have to play the Hunger Games. If nothing else does, this thought spurs me back to my feet. I stand there a few moments, collecting my thoughts and wiping my face. I've cried more in here, than I have since childhood. It isn't the first time I realize that, while these Games are brutal, cruel, and awful…with _me_ anyway, they just might be making me a better man.

_._._

Day Five had come and went, the night holding none of the danger of the day. Seeing Imurus in the sky had been a horrible mix of emotions. I was happy that he was dead, and yet I wanted to stab him in the heart four times. District Four, four thrusts of the knife. It's what he'd doled out, seemed fitting he ought to get it, in kind. Though I believed I was prepared for seeing Noah, I wasn't. I'd started crying immediately upon seeing his face, I couldn't help it. Wren faired a little worse if anything, for she bottled it up, and I had found her crying in the middle of the night. It seemed I was not alone—Farah, who was keeping watch, crept over and gave the girl from Six a hug.

I felt sorry for Noah Lind and his family. I'm glad those damned bats sucked Imurus dry, nightcrawler that he was, but he was tied forever to Noah. He'd killed Noah, the bats had killed him. They were, now and forever, the only victims on the fifth day of the 63rd Hunger Games. All across Panem they would be broadcasting specials on the both of them. I knew once it got to this point in the competition, all tributes get their time in the spotlight once dead.

I would've given Wren a hug myself, I almost wanted to, but seeing my two closest allies embrace, I felt it wrong to intercede. I rolled over, and though it didn't happen immediately, I went back to sleep. Not even Roman told me just how exhausting being in here was. Sometimes I don't consciously think of it, but it would seem that my body is always aware. The Hunger Games takes more than a toll, it is almost unbearable at times. And I am well-aware that I have gotten through so far with a great deal of luck, in an Arena that when compared to last year's, could've been a children's playground. Maybe that wasn't giving this Arena it's due.

Seemed like Enobaria and her fellow tributes last year had died faster, and more gruesomely in many ways, but they were among the shortest Hunger Games I could recall. I couldn't be sure, but they might've only lasted four or five days. We had already eclipsed that measuring stick, and there were seven tributes left. Those tributes barely had time to realize what was happening to them, with so many traps it was downright indecent. Why did _my _year have to revert back to a long, complicated mindfuck?

All morning the four of us had foraged for food, but came up empty-handed. It was as though all of the easy game had cheesed it in anticipation. We heard birds on this sixth day of the Hunger Games, but we hadn't seen a one. I knew that Knox would suffer the worst, having been the most well-fed and having the biggest body mass. If Farah and Wren really were growing closer, I would be tempted to kill Knox. I wouldn't want to, especially after yesterday with the two of us growing closer, but I would. If the Careers were gone, or if there was just one of them remaining, I would've absolutely killed Knox. Quickly, so as not to have a struggle or make him suffer, but kill him all the same. We had now gotten to a point in these Games, that everyone left could be a potential problem.

Knox moreso than the girls, but Wren was extremely smart and Farah had great instincts. Even supposing Knox was dead, who could guarantee me they wouldn't team up in an female alliance, and kill me next? It would be in their best interest to do so. Of course all of this is theoretical, but it might be put into action. Who knew. It seemed that I had three relatively strong allies left in the game. But the flip side of that, is that they wouldn't be easy to take out. Wren perhaps…I could probably walk right up to her, and kill her. No, I couldn't do that. Not after all we've been through. Even if it flitted through my mind, I wasn't going to kill Wren. I think I could kill Knox, I _say_ I could anyway, but truly? I am not sure what I can or can't do.

During the mornings festivities, Farah managed to twist her ankle. Seems like something Wren might be more inclined to do, but that isn't how it happened. Now that it was near midday, Knox urged us to find sustenance. Farah told us all to go, but Knox seemed to think that was unwise. Wren ended up going with Knox given that he may have been the best hunter, and she knew some about plants. In addition to these attributes, it was just as well. This didn't give Knox and Farah time to strategize against us, nor Wren and I. We were not the happy foursome that we might appear to be. Had I been alone with Wren, I don't know that I would trust myself not to have us split off from our allies. Every damned thing about the Hunger Games is starting to get tricky.

"Sorry you got stuck babysitting the sickie." Farah tells me, her yellowish eyes surprisingly spry.

I say, "Oh come on, you're not that bad."

"Why do you think they left us alone? Shouldn't they be worried we'll plot against them?"

I catch myself from being too truthful, and shrug. "What, with your twisted ankle I don't think they need worry too much Farah." Amazing how quickly it seemed my allegiance was already being called into question.

"Don't you trust them?"

"Yeah," she tells me with a hint of a smile, "I _do_ trust them, more that I trust either of us, anyway."

All alone with my District Eight ally on Day Six, and we're laughing about being a bit underhanded—why not. So she was interested in telling the _real _truth, I see. "Aren't you close with Knox? Didn't you make an agreement?"

"Yeah, but he isn't you." She says plainly as the look on her face. "You don't fuck me, I don't fuck you, remember?" Her eyes flash and she adds, "If you're thinking too hard about that, you may as well kill me right now Herod. Better you than anyone else."

Our eyes clash and spark off each other. "No." I say honestly. "I gave you my word, and I'm sticking to it."

"If I were able to run, and we were better armed, we'd be able to leave now." Farah explains with a sigh. She's talking about what I had been mulling over earlier, just with Wren in place of Farah. "Wren seems sort of sure that she saw that girl get her bow. I don't know Herod." Now she is looking at me with an expression that seems to hold the weight of the world behind it. "We might be close but no cigar. Heh," she smiles gloomily at me, "at least we made a better showing than we have for a few years." Of course she is referring to District Eight in it's entirety. Apart from the girl who'd came in second place three or four years ago, we'd been nothing too terrific. It sickens me a bit that I can't recall that girl's name, but I suppose it isn't important right now.

"Hey I thought I was the one who is supposed to be saying stuff like that. Better cut that shit out, or the Gamemakers will start getting us mixed up."

Farah laughs freely and I even manage a half-smile at my own joke. I don't think of myself as funny, but I seem to be able to get people to chuckle when necessary. Thinking of my promise to Knox I can't help myself from saying it. "If you win, you need to look up Etcher Ronson from the north prefecture. He's my best friend. Good guy. He'll keep you laughing. Someone like you needs someone like him, keep you from getting too severe."

"Probably why you keep him around, huh. Alright, I will."

"Just after your name was called at the Reaping, he said 'whoa.'"

This information seemed not to phase her in the slightest. Farah explains, "I don't have a best friend, really. If you win, District Eight will be eating good. I worry about my brother and sister, but at least they won't starve to death."

The fact that Farah isn't asking anything of me makes me feel callous and mean. I should not expect her to do anything, even if it is in good humor. There's so much I do not know about Farah Gilderling, and I've had more time than anyone, except maybe Knox, to know her.

She's pretty in an unconventional way, sure. I remember having stronger feelings for her in the Training Center. It isn't like it is with Wren. I don't _want_ to flirt with her, play around with my words, and be coy. Whatever chance I had of developing something other than friendship with Farah, is gone. Had I found her instead of Wren that day with Noah, things would be different. If there is one thing that The Hunger Games is teaching me however, it's that things are what they are.

"We've done good for ourselves." Farah tells me in a way that makes it impossible not to smile, and be drawn closer to her in the same breath. "Allied with two of the smartest, most capable non-Career tributes…final seven. Herod, one of us might actually win this thing."

One of my eyebrows raises and I can't help but feel my lips curling up into a grin as I watch her. "Since when are you so damned optimistic, anyway? Can't quite make up your mind, can you?"

"You're cutest when you look like that. Don't forget."

This strikes me like a chop to the throat, and I am not so much embarrassed as just startled. I can't say for certain, but I know that Knox must be more her type than I. I've caught her flirting with him from time to time. When Farah wants to flirt with someone, it's like getting knocked over the head with a sack of bricks; there is no misunderstanding it. She isn't flirting with me. Some locks seem to turn in my mind, and I can't help but look at her quizzically.

"Who says I'm winning?"

Farah purses her lips a bit and shrugs. "I don't know, it's just something about you. I told Cecelia too. Roman thought the same as I did. I'm no fortune teller, but my money's on you. Hey…don't look at me like that. Don't try to give me a hug or anything, or I'll get emotional here. I thought so after we talked a bit on the train. Somehow it's connected to the fact that you seem completely oblivious to it, yourself."

I don't know what to say. Now I am more confused than ever, because I am slowly realizing that while I'd gone ahead and decided to abandon Farah for Wren, she _hadn't_ mirrored my own thoughts, with Knox as her substitute. What sort of an asshole am I? I think Roman would be displeased with me not owning my 'gamer' mind, but maybe not.

"Can't believe we've been in here for six days. Almost a week." I don't quite sound like myself, but I am not going to worry about it for now. "Seems like a lot longer to me."

I can tell Farah disagrees just by the expression on her face, but she isn't going to voice it. From the sound of it, she had to battle loneliness a lot more than I, which I wouldn't wish on someone I hate, let alone a friend. I might have had to make my way through more scrapes, but except for the very beginning, I wasn't alone. We start discussing it, and not surprisingly she is candid.

"Something changed me, being alone like that for a couple of days. Haw was gone, then I saw he was dead…I was so scared and I was alone. So then I decided to fucking _stop_ being scared. Just like that. And I think it's working. Weird thing though," she combs some of her dark hair back with a clawed hand, "It is like I'm not _me_, anymore. It happened so fast, like," she snaps her fingers, "but I can't seem to go back. Even seeing you, I was so happy that you were still alive, even if you were getting attacked by Careers. Then Knox and I found Wren, and then we found you. I should be thrilled and excited, but I can't seem to get that way. I don't know Herod, I'm not the same person anymore."

While I have to admit that it does seem Farah is more markedly different than myself, this could be attributed to being alone. I was so fortunate to find Cynthia and Noah when I had. At the start I was alright alone…but now I know if I had to spend much more time by myself, I would've lost it. Regardless of that, I do feel the Hunger Games are changing me. I'm probably going to die very soon, but even still, they've altered me. Maybe not as extremely as Farah, but let's face it, she had more _personality_ than me, to start with.

To me she doesn't seem all that different, but obviously she is. She wouldn't lie to me about this, what would be the point? I have to reassure her. "None of us are, Farah."

"You're fucking right about that. Putting us in here is sick." She spits and I hope the Gamemakers don't unleash something awful on us for her candidness. I'm sure the cameras aren't on us. "I hate them so much." She says, shaking her head. "Knox seems to see it from their point of view, about the Dark Days and everything. He can be so friggin' annoying. Saved my life, a couple of times, but it's like he's not a real person."

Though I smile and I can see where she's coming from, I have to disagree. Knox is a very real person to me. It is unsettling, especially given now we're catching up, but I have to recognize that Farah and I may not be as alike as I'd believed before. I was remembering how she was in the Training Center, and though she is basically still the same, she just admitted to me how she's changed. The same applies for me, I'm sure. Perhaps it is _this_ difference, that doesn't have me interested in her anymore.

I do need to honor my allegiance to her, and if it comes down to it, I need to kill Wren to save Farah. That's what I need to do. But everything is getting so hazy on day six. Decisions like that always sound good at the time, but now that I am much closer to facing the dilemma, indecision seems safer. I made that agreement with Farah before I knew any of our competitors. Knox had told me he and Daisy had done the exact same thing. Is that my out? I can betray Farah if need be, because making an alliance with your district-mate before the games is a promise you don't intend to keep?

We while away the better portion of the early afternoon, talking back and forth though mostly about what the Careers may or may not be up to.

"Need to walk on it…Wren said so." Farah says as she tries to get up on her own, but I move to help her. Eventually she's standing there, albeit at a bit of a slant, giving me a slightly glum expression. She takes a step and I am fully expecting her to crash to the ground. She waves my anxious arms away from her, and manages to move of her own accord. "See…ungh," she winces, "I can do it."

No one could ever accuse Farah Gilderling of not being motivated. I remind myself I am lucky to have her as an ally. While of course it goes without saying, she _especially_ I wouldn't want as my enemy. Last year the tributes from our district couldn't have been more different than Farah and I. Of course, we were in the top seven, and neither of them had done so well. One of them died right away, the other only lasted into day two, if memory serves. I will let her walk on her own, but I don't trust her not to fall down so much that I sit down and completely relax. As she is not engaging me in conversation, I focus on my options.

Really it boils down to two: stay with Farah, or stay with Wren. Knox wasn't going to agree to killing both girls, and quite frankly, neither was I. Telling myself anything else was a lie.

Farah half screams; I say this because it sounded as though she sucked it inward a split second after releasing it. My heart is beating fast already and my eyes go flying around, trying to discover the cause for concern. Then I see it, standing artfully atop one of tree trunks.

It drapes it's long lustrous tail feathers down behind it, like the train on a dress. It's back is to us, perched there upon the wooden stump which had obviously gotten that way, as with all the others, long before any tribute set foot in this arena.

A flash of it's shocking blue throat, and the bird if shifting its weight slowly, but surely. For a moment or two I am confused—perhaps this isn't the same thing? Then it lets out a long stream of undulating calls. The noise makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end, but now I am certain it is a peacock.

"Don't worry, it's harmless!" I call out, giving Farah a reassuring smile. "Apparently they're called peacocks."

"Peacock?" Farah says, sounding just as stymied as I must've a few days back. I wasn't the only person who'd never heard of one, let alone seen one. "They're _gorgeous_." She gushes, and even if she's turning away from me to further admire the beauty of the green and blue bird. "You're so loud, such a pretty voice. Don't fly away." She coos at the avian thing, then asks me "Are they friendly?" she asks in a perfectly juvenile tone, and takes a few uneven steps forward opening her hand toward the bird who seems to have taken an interest in her.

I chuckle, "I didn't say they were friendly, exactly. What do you think, you're going to adopt it and snuggle with it tonight while it sings you songs?" I start laughing, I can't really help myself. I need to laugh, and to see Farah behave so strangely, it is refreshing. "Seemed shy to me. Didn't let me get anywhere near it."

As if to illustrate my point, the peacock leapt high from it's perch and stopped it's incessant screeching. The girl from my district was behaving as if it were a nightingale chirping out a lovely tune. To me, it sounded more like someone dying—I'd hardly ever call the noise the thing can make 'pretty'. It's plumage was very eye-catching, no one can deny that, but I'd much rather see one than hear one. Like the one I'd come across on day one, this peacock was not too keen on letting Farah within arms reach.

The peacock lighted on another of the felled stumps and now was bobbing it's beautiful blue neck and head a bit, and I watched it shake it's tail feathers a little. "Just leave it be, Farah. I thought you were going to walk around a bit."

"What do you think I'm doing!" she shouts at me with a look that could cure cement. "Yeah," she starts baby-talking to the peacock, "you're a pretty girl aren't you?"

I hardly have Lurie or even Wren's knowledge about animals, but I could've sworn I remember hearing somewhere that the real colorful ones are usually male. Oh well, why spoil Farah's fun? It might be a female far as I know—who cares? Point is, I never would've thought I would live to see the day where she'd be baby talking and chirruping after anyone or anything, let alone a peacock.

Our fire is long gone, though it's curious to me that the Careers hadn't tried to attack us. Knox seemed to predict this, but I can't possibly see how he would've known. Last night surely we were broadcasting our location with such a bright flame. There are so many things about the Hunger Games that I don't understand. I suppose I do, but not in a way that I'm used to. I've always believed in luck. Blind, stupid, careless luck. The absence of it is how the phrase 'being in the wrong place at the wrong time' and countless others, came into existence. I am sure that's why I am still alive, but it's baffling, especially when you're in here, to realize how little control you do have.

Playing in the Arena, somehow makes me feel like I ought to be able to control the outcome. I suppose I can, but I can recall, uncomfortable as it is, back to when I'd thought about killing Noah. Instead we'd become close allies and friends. Then he got murdered by a lunatic, who is now also dead. I can effect the games, certainly, but I am convinced that I can't really _control_ anything.

"Herod, look!" Farah is shouting to me and so I have to see what the fuss is over. Her peacock, I say this because it seems like she's all but adopted it in the last few minutes, has stood there resolute, and begun moving it's feathers. Each one moves together like a school of fish, until a wide spray of gold, vibrant green, and shocking blue is cast up behind it. Looking at the peacock from the front, the curvature is concave with the tips of the feathers curling ever so slightly outward to us.

I am mesmerized by the colors of it's tail. All those…eyes looking at me, it seems to be so appropriate. If not the eyes of a peacock's plumage, then it was every freaking person in Panem. The bird seems to know we're looking at it. It shifts ever so slightly, bringing with it the wall of feathers.

Farah is a good twenty feet ahead of me, she's got ringside seats, but I am heading that way. The peacock lets off a long, sharp cry that hurts my ears. Then it's feathers begin to rattle and shake, as if it were seizing. Not the peacock itself, just it's feathers. I can't be sure, but I swear some of the colors of the eyes on it's vast tail are changing color. "What is it doing?" I can't help myself from asking.

"Don't know. Warning us? Presenting? Wow it's beautiful, just look at that." My companion marvels.

The peacock is still shaking it's feathers wildly, and my internal alarm starts going off. I stoop to reach for my bandolier and long knives. No, stupid of me. Though maybe we can eat it! I have no idea why this thought has eluded me until now. Whatever the peacock is doing, it is harmless as the one I encountered days ago. It looks a bit like a swan…I wonder if it tastes like one? I don't think I've ever had swan.

"I'm ok…look," I hear Farah say, taking a step nearer the bird on the stump, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The peacock raises it's head, arching it's neck with plenty of spasms, still shaking. It looks like it's trying to pass some internal thrombosis or something. It opens it's mouth and lets out a crisp, sharp cry that hikes up and up through the air. It's feathers arc forward, like a person's fingers slightly curved and spread out. I feel my mouth curve into a perplexed little o as I narrow my eyes. What the hell is it doing?

Like a rolling wave, a splash of beautiful color as it's eyed feathers line and shift together like the scales on a fish. Still shrieking at us, these feathers come flying out at once. Like porcupine quills, they fire off it's body, slicing through the air with tremendous speed. I fling my arms out in front of me as a reflex, dropping the bandolier.

A sharp burn roars across my forearm and I realize it's bleeding, a deep gash licked clean across my virgin skin on the underside of my arm. I'm moving quickly forward to Farah, as I see the peacock hop and skip away, looking more like a very pretty plucked duck, with all it's tail feathers gone. It skirts off into the jungle, hop-flying as I'd seen it do before, and it does this without a word.

The mere sight of Farah lying there, makes my heart stop. I crash onto my knees, feeling like my entire body is being sucked down my throat and then expunged from God knows where. There is blood everywhere. Her body is peppered with…I reach one sticking out of her shoulder, and pry it back from her flesh.

The delicate webbing that makes up the feather has been destroyed, saturated in blood. I see the quill which has back-curving projection like teeth, and then narrows wickedly to a dark point. Both ends of the quill do terminate in a needlelike tip. I am so stunned by this, I kneel there beyond comprehension for I don't know how long.

It is Farah's gurgling cough that ushers in my attention and I gasp, afraid to touch her. I've already ripped a wider wound in her shoulder than was there before.

".." she begins, but one of her hands goes clawing for her throat. I see it's been pierced by a quill, straight through the middle. This isn't even the worst of it. Her torso is littered with the hollow points from the peacock, at least half a dozen I see with just the briefest of glances. "Heraa…ghhh.." she starts again and the gurgles and splutters, spitting up blood.

She's trying to say my name. My mouth is shaking and open, I see her eyes blink, looking widely at me. She is shaking her head, and one of her hands grasps weakly onto my wrist, then slick with blood, loops and falls away.

"Farah…" I am whispering to her, I watch my own hands start out toward her, but then not seeing a good spot in which to touch the girl I met on the train, stall. I am in disbelief.

She leans forward, her head bobbling up and down as she tries to talk, but all she gets out is a long, wet bloody bubble that pops with feeling from her mouth. There are quills in her lungs, in her chest…in her arms, in her neck…

"Sccuuuuapp-eeaa" she hacks at me.

"No, no…you're not…" I find myself whimper at her, blinking rapidly at the bloody mess of my fellow district-mate on the floor of the Arena. I settle onto the ground by her, what the hell am I supposed to do? What can I do?

Farah makes a weak clawing motion toward her throat and splutters "Ooocchhh, ooocchhh…"

Just the sound of her lances through me back to front. Oh my God. I realize what she's trying to say, so I nod at her, and then swallow down all my unsettled stomach and churning thoughts. Even Wren wasn't going to be able to save Farah in this condition, and who knows where the hell she and Knox even are. Looking down at her as I touch the back of her neck she nods ever so slightly.

It did go all the way through. I grab the sides of the quill, feeling it bite into my fingers but I don't care. In one fail swoop, I rip the deadly quill out of her throat and toss it to the ground. Now a rivulet of blood trickles down from the relatively small hole in her throat. "Ok, it's out." I hear myself say, although I am floating above myself, dizzily like something spinning in a drain. From up here I can see everything, and it isn't a pretty sight at all.

Farah blinks once at me, then exhales slowly. Even if there is a disgusting wet sound as she does so, I can tell she is thankful to have the thing out of her throat. Those yellowy green eyes alight right on mine and all I can manage to do is wipe a bit of blood from her cheek and look right back. I can see it in her eyes too, we both know there's no hope of staunching the bleeding or trying to make good on this situation. She's going to die, soon, and I am sentenced to sit there, eye to eye and watch.

I realize just how little I do actually know about the girl who is dying right before me. I know more of her mostly deaf brother and somewhat absentee mother, than I do the Farah herself. She's revealed less of herself, details about her life and such, than I have to her. I don't consciously recollect this, but it seems I'm wanting to cry so I stuff the urge away and decide to grasp Farah's hand. It is such a cliché thing to do, but she can't talk. This is terrible. I feel like something is inside my chest, scrambling about with little hands, scratching and clawing to be free. "I…I don't know what to…" my voice at it's most pathetic begins.

Like she usually would, she cuts me off though this time it's with a simple closing of her eyes and shake of her head. Alright…I won't talk. Either that, or she's telling me I don't have to worry about it. Seconds tick by, and though bloodied, her chest is still rising and falling. Etcher would tell a joke, say something stupid…_anything_ to break the silence.

I turn my head as we hear birds. Not a peacock, for fuck's sake not one of those, but something smaller. I can't decipher what it's actual tune might be, seems to have a couple of them. Mom said cardinals have more than one song. Perhaps it's a cardinal. No…probably not, not here in the jungle like this. It might be mocking that birds would chirp, when Farah just got made into a pin cushion by one, but whatever the thing is, it's song is light and airy. When it stops, I have to swallow my tears, as my guts turn to mush when Farah's hand tightens around mine. Blinking away from her face, I muster the courage and look back down at her once more.

She descends into a nasty, slimy coughing fit which wracks her body and gives her the most painful expressions. This too does subside, and I hear the chirp of a far off insect, maybe a cicada, maybe not.

I know barely anything about her! Any memory I might bring up, involves the Hunger Games and I am not going to subject my friend to that in her last moments of life. I force my eyes up and draw the tears away from forming. I'm not going to let her see my cry either, I am determined not to. "There's…um…there's a place down there, by where the creek stops? It's really pretty. D-do you want me to take you there?" I sound absolutely nothing like myself. It's like there is an actor trying to portray me, and he's doing a decent job, but the voice isn't anywhere close to the genuine article.

A shake of her head, and after one more squeeze of my hand, she exhales long and slow. "You're right, it's nice here too." I can't fathom the things coming out of my mouth, but I can't stop them either. "I…" and now the water behind my eyes is threatening to go…like a dam break, if I move too much any way, it's going to burst. "I'm going to miss you."

I see Farah's eyes move on mine and she makes an effort to move her head, nodding ever so slightly. This makes the first tears trickle down my face. I wouldn't entirely know, but my mouth is so dry I lick my lips, and taste them. My throat is being squeezed like it were in a vice. A small cough from Farah, face twisted in agony though it lets up and her face takes on the features which belong to her.

It's absolutely killing me that every last thing I can think of to say, pertains in some way to these fucking Games. I can't tell her that everyone would be proud of her. I can't tell her that everything is going to be alright. I can't tell her that I will take it out on the Capitol, and get revenge; this is what would probably really put her mind at ease. This is a new feeling entirely, and one I absolutely hate. I feel so stretched and useless. Like someone nailed my feet to the floor and then is yelling at me to jump. I wipe a few more tears off my cheek, and I see that Farah's breathing has become a little shallower, and has decided to close her eyes.

I have to look away from the bright peacock feathers, wet with blood. Looking up, I see the sunlight struggling to find it's way through the overcast skies. I realize just how hungry I truly am, when the blast from the cannon jars me from my lofty gaze. I blink many times over, it taking me extra long to finally realize that she's stopped breathing. I was holding Farah's hand when she died. How is it possible that it happened that fast? One second she looked to be resting. Now she looks…dead. Thoroughly dead, even.

Sitting like a statue, I want to look away but can't. My mouth is like cotton, and that feeling of something gnawing at my chest is enhanced by the emptiness of hunger.


End file.
